


Extra Credit

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dirty Talk, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Professor Draco Malfoy, Tattoos, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: He’d never held a job… hell, he’d never even needed one! Yet somehow, a widowed Draco found himself agreeing to McGonagall’s desperate plea to take over a temporary post as a Potions Master at Hogwarts because… oh, he didn’t really know why! Besides, how bad could it be? It’s not like he was about to step into a hell-pit of teenage hormones and meet his personal devil, right? Right?! Er… There might or might not be a certain redhead around who insists on having a say in that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, I confess I never really planned writing for this fest – my schedule appeared to be too stuffed – but I’m a sucker for rare pairs containing Weasleys, and this just seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up. Many XXXL thanks to my wonderful, supportive beta B. for saving me from the pitfalls of English grammar as well as for her inspiring enthusiasm and repeated assurances we’ll get there in time.

_Right, I can do this,_ Draco told himself while pulling on his cufflinks a bit too forcefully and looking in the mirror to make sure his appearance was immaculate. He _needed_ to do this right. Possibly, he was just a bit nervous. Just a tad. Nothing out of control, of course. He was a Malfoy after all. And they were just students. A class of students, to be precise. _His_ class of students… ugh.

For the millionth time that day, he wondered what had possessed him to respond to McGonagall’s plea to take over the job as the Potions Professor _“…just until the end of term, Mr. Malfoy – Draco – competent personnel is impossible to find on such short notice, and we couldn’t possibly predict that Mrs. Parkinson-Zabini would come down with such a serious case of dragon pox… blah-blah-blah…”_ –  right. He’d never even held a job! He never needed one… and he certainly didn’t need one now! It was just that… that calamity with Scorpius and Albus bloody Potter last year had… unsettled him. _Unhinged_ him, even – as Draco’s father put it with his usual _graceful_ vitriol. He had to do something, had to be near, had to be sure there wasn’t going to be another incident. _Incidents_.

Oh, that bloody Potter middle child, it was all his fault! Corrupting Draco’s wonderful, quiet son like that! Scorpius’s life was nice and boring, just like Draco had hoped it would remain – until evil fate had him sit in the same train compartment with Potter’s demented son, and before he knew it – timelines were changing like they were drunk, children were disappearing left and right, and the bloody Dark… _Voldemort_ nearly destroyed them all from the grave with a daughter no one knew he had! It should be forbidden by law for the Malfoy offspring to go near the terrifying Potter spawn, because all kinds of disasters of biblical proportions promptly erupted!

And just when _they_ – and this time Draco had been a part of it! – managed to successfully restore peace and order, push timelines and unborn children into their rightful place, and Draco _thought_ he could start breathing a little easier – his dumb son, by some unknown, unfortunate sorcery, finally managed to persuade Rose Granger-Weasley, the Hogwarts superstar, to start _dating_ him.

A Weasley! Draco could’ve wept. He did weep a little, actually. So much for peaceful nights full of sleep! Everyone knew what happened when Weasleys entered the picture! _Instant Armageddon_ , that’s what! One could _possibly_ mix Malfoys and _half-_ Potters – you know, just because his silly Scorpius would not be persuaded that the sun didn’t actually shine from sulky Albus Potter’s bum – but add a Weasley-Granger mix…

Draco shuddered. Weasleys of all kinds were a recipe for disaster. Three-headed dogs, Veelas, dragons, acromantulas, slug-vomit, Horcrux diaries, memory charms gone wrong, clingy brains – whatever there were of unimaginable horrors, they shadowed the Weasleys’ lives like the plague. Hadn’t Draco’s whole life nearly derailed because of that freckled ginger git hanging himself around Potter’s neck?! Ron Weasley _stole_ Potter from under his nose – there was no better way of putting it – and then continued to ruin Draco’s life wherever he went.

People still remembered that wonderful mocking chant “Weasley Is Our King” that was meant to eradicate what little traces of confidence the ginger scarecrow had at playing Quidditch – and it turned out to be entirely _wasted!_ Completely! Never mind the long hours Draco and Pansy put in it – bloody Weasel clearly inhaled all the world’s reserves of Felix Felicis and won the Gryffindors that bloody game against all odds! Of course it _wasn’t_ petty of Draco to still remember it all these years later! It was the perfect proof in support of his theory that the Weasley line was venomous, and should be avoided at all costs! After all, Albus Potter was half a Weasley – and Draco was fairly certain it was _that_ part of his heritage that made him nearly spin the world off its axis!

Oh, he supposed Harry Potter’s life was enough drama on its own… but the feisty little bugger’s life had been dull until he met Weasleys, hadn’t it?! Mad as hatters, every last one of them! That Muggle-obsessed Weasley the Elder who nearly knocked Draco’s father’s teeth out – with a fist, the brute! Or take that obnoxiously loud matriarch of theirs! Everyone thought her barely average, and the bloody woman certainly _never_ showed _any sign_ of being able to annihilate someone as vicious as his aunt! The thought how many times Draco mocked her – albeit behind her back – still made him shiver. The chubby, smiling woman that could instantly transform into a vindictive, lethal assassin – offing the Dark Lord’s lover with a single non-verbal hex of all things! – should come with a warning! An apron saying something like _‘Beware! Can obliterate dark wizards and witches – and will!’_ would do nicely!

Or that pretty – or pretty scarred – Weasley, taking on a werewolf during the war, and then proceeding to marry a quarter-Veela – that man had guts, seriously! And there was also a dragon-tamer among them – not exactly advertised as the safest of professions, was it?! And of course, insanely brave Ron Weasley, his childhood nemesis and his child’s – oh, god, what a miserable thought! – potential future father-in-law had to top that, so the foolish freckled martyr actually married Granger! Bring on the dragon-Veela hybrid, Draco thought sulkily; it was preferable… and possibly, safer. Granger turned out to be, uhm, rather nice to him, but one didn’t become the Minister at such a young age without being bloody scary!

And because there were so many of them, they also had a Weasley that pretended to be normal, working for the Ministry – and possibly hiding god-knows-what deadly, arcane talents like his unassuming mother… and then there was that unfortunate mad scientist George, who owned a joke-shop on Diagon Alley and nearly destroyed the poor street with his experiments every once in a while. Last time Draco heard of him, he was followed by a ghost-Weasley, and was overheard to boast that he got some of his best ideas from his deceased twin. Oh, yeah, and then there was the Quidditch-queen Weaslette married to Potter… and her notorious Bat-Bogey Hexes and neck-breaking Quidditch maneuvers… One mad, dangerous Weasley for every taste! Ugh, every but his, Draco thought with a sour taste in his mouth.

And now his beautiful, shy, submissive son had gone and fallen for a _next-generation_ Weasley, an improved Weasley-Granger version, who had apparently inherited all the talent in the family – academic and athletic – and all of her mother’s assertiveness. Once Rose had said yes to Scorpius’ years-long romantic pursuit, Draco’d had little hope that this, uhhh… _thing_ between them was going away. And then he’d be related to Weasleys. Father would – probably? hopefully? – drop dead of shock before it came to that.

Draco huffed unhappily. At least there would be no need for him to deal with the obnoxious ginger lot in his class. He’d only reluctantly accepted McGonagall’s offer – well, plea, really – when he discreetly checked that Rose Granger-Weasley hadn’t picked Potions for her N.E.W.T.s. He would have had a good reason to decline if she had – but that girl was too smart to pick a field she clearly didn’t excel in – or too much of a crude Weasley to appreciate the delicate, noble marriage of science and magic that was Potions. Draco had loved it from the start. It was the art of covert mastery – and the possibilities were endless.

_“I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”_

Even after all these years, the words of Severus Snape, his late Potions’ professor, still rang clearly in his ears. He never quite forgot how much awe they inspired in him that first day in Potions class. He always wanted that kind of power… but as it turned out, he was not fit to wield it. When the time came to pick glory and fame – he looked into disfigured face of Harry Potter and chose to be a nobody in order to give the boy in front of him a chance to do what he did best: to live. Draco came to realise that was not made of the same relentless, unyielding, unforgiving material as Severus Snape was. Draco had always been a bit of a coward who wanted cheaply won fame and glory – for example, that of a Quidditch star would do nicely – and not the sort that came with a gravestone.

And that turned out to be good for him, didn’t it? He was still alive - and Severus Snape wasn’t. Despite Potter’s efforts to have him celebrated as a war hero, the man who sowed nothing but misery when he was still alive didn’t really inspire people to celebrate his name. Draco wondered if it would have been different if Potter let it slip why Snape did it. The man hadn’t seemed capable of the most common affection, sometimes not even courtesy, yet he helped bring the Dark Lord down for the most curious reason of all: to honour the memory of his undying love for Potter’s mother. Talk about romantic… Potter didn’t want the matter public because his late professor had chosen to keep it to himself, but Draco had found out anyway, and it left him strangely… awe-stricken and moved. Snape, of all people, had a heart. And it seemed that his hard, unbreakable demeanour was merely the impenetrable vault he had built around it to keep it safe.

So when McGonagall’s offer came, that was part of Draco’s quiet reasoning behind accepting it. He would honour the memory of Severus Snape, who was always strangely tolerant and protective of him, by teaching those unruly, unworthy kids the best Potions class since the man himself was gone. He’d never lost his love for the craft – well, art, really; he’d never really lost touch with it, given the small potions lab he had installed in the manor after father had ceremoniously given him the key to the main door and all the powers of a rightful owner with it. His parents decided all those stairs and draughts were no longer kind to their age, and his father found the anonymity he had in the wizarding community in the south of France quite enjoyable.

Draco had been his own man and master for a while now. Free to choose what he liked. If he _chose_ to help out his old professor-turned-headmaster, surely that was something to be complimented, right? The thing was… oh, if he was entirely honest, the adventure he’d become mixed up in the previous year to bring his son back from the time trap had brought forward a funny little problem. He’d become acutely aware of how isolated and… well, _bored_ he was. Was this solitary existence really all he was meant to have? Even now that Potter and the bunch clearly forgave him? Well -  perhaps _not_ if he took up McGonagall on her offer. The Malfoy name had been cleared, this time by himself – and perhaps it was time he became a little more… _engaged_ in his own life? Could he actually enjoy it for once?

Certainly teaching wasn’t a strange way to go about it! It wasn’t _beneath_ him in any way – after all, these were the future wizards and witches that could end up running their magical community! And it certainly wasn’t something to be intimidated about, was it? It was going to be a Weasley-free class; how hard could it be? No inquisitive Rose Granger-Weasley in there asking him provocative questions she shouldn’t even have the knowledge to ask!

Well, to be quite precise, it would also be a Potter-free class. James Potter had left the school a year prior, while Al Potter had every bit of his father’s repulsion and destructive non-talent for the noble art of potions. And the word was that every time a talented and clever Lily Potter came near a cauldron, all her male classmates often tended to explode what was in theirs one by one, because they were too busy staring at the pretty redhead. According to Scorpius, his dutiful informer, everyone concerned with the safety of students breathed a sigh of relief when she took Professor Longbottom’s strong suggestion and decided not to pursue it, commenting with a nonchalant shrug: _“Oh, don’t mind if I don’t; I reckon Grandma Molly can teach me all there is to know on how to impress people – and knock them out – with a cauldron.”_

So – no Potters, no Weasleys – and sadly, no Malfoys other than himself either, because Scorpius intermittently followed Al and Rose around like a happy puppy. Draco sighed. Shame, that. Scorpius had talent, that much was obvious from their experiments in the home laboratory – but that could also be nurtured outside of school. There was no point in lamenting Scorpius’s choices; after what had happened the previous year, Draco was far too happy that his boy was still alive, and very evidently happier than he had ever been. It would have to do. His son had to follow his own path in life, and Draco had no intention of intervening in it the way his father had done to him. It could bring nothing but misery. They both had their own decisions to make.

And taking up teaching had been one of those for him. It was only going to be for the two months remaining until the end of term. Without any Weasley-Granger-Potters around – which was definitely a good sign - seriously, how life-changing could it be?

~


	2. Chapter 2

Draco walked into the classroom with his head held up high. He knew the excited whoosh of barely-quiet gossip and rumours was going to follow him everywhere he went from the moment it was announced in the Great Hall that he would be the substitute Potions professor. He was quite certain the applause he reaped wouldn’t have been so great if Rose Weasley wasn’t at the head of it, whooping and clapping her hands so enthusiastically they were bound to catch fire – and boldly blowing a kiss to Scorpius across the hall, making the poor boy turn crimson and, judging by the looks of him, he seemed about ready to melt into a puddle of joy. Well… that certainly could have gone worse. It looked like the Weasley girl was taking her role as his son’s girlfriend seriously… but he still didn’t want her in his class, thank you very much. Those Granger genes were too bloody annoying, and capable of ruining a perfectly-planned, well-flowing lesson.

He schooled a bit of a frown on his face when he entered the classroom – not quite Snape-level enough to make anyone cry just yet – but he made sure he also didn’t appear completely unapproachable. He needed to test the waters first; there would be opportunities enough to soften his demeanour – or put on the mask of haughty disdain he had worn for most of his school days. He also wondered how long it would take before one of them called him a Death Eater – and if it would happen. He was determined he would not let it derail him; he would just punish the perpetrator as was within his rights. These were the children of war survivors, and most of them had grown up reading the legend of Harry Potter’s life. Some of their parents still might have borne the scars from that blasted conflict, and there were bound to be some among them who were going to be mistrustful, even hostile. But though he could not ask for their admiration, he was determined to demand their respect.

He was scheduled to start with a class of sixth years. That was not too bad either. They were bound to know some of the basics – and wouldn’t make him want to cry at their ignorance – but they didn’t have the N.E.W.T.s in sixth year yet, thus there was still time enough to repair the inevitable holes in their knowledge. He hoped to find it challenging, and at least some of his audience receptive to the vast knowledge he had to share. With a reasonable level of confidence, he turned around and let his eyes sweep across the sea of curious faces all looking at him.

“Welcome everyone. Some of you may know me as Draco Malfoy, but _all_ of you will refer to me as Professor Malfoy until our business is done here. I will be your substitute teacher for the noble art of Potions until the end of the term – and no, it won’t help even if you object loudly.”

When a fit of giggles emerged from the occupied desks in front of him, he allowed himself to take a better look at them.

They were a bit of a mixed bag, just like he expected them to be. Most of the first row stared at him with obvious interest – which was good… and that one girl on the left looked pretty awestruck, probably a Slytherin or prone to a teenage crush – not so good… uh, there was one rolling his eyes in the second row – immediately reminding Draco of Snape’s cold: _“Watch it - they might get stuck that way!”_ ... another batch of curious faces… a few more dark ones – nothing he couldn’t handle… uh, a voluptuous girl with a smile that looked positively besotted – goodness gracious, it’s not like he was a catch at the ripe age of forty-three… _ohdearfuckinggod, there was a Weasley in his classroom!_

But… but… but he thought they were out of production! Wasn’t Lily Potter the last? Had they gone and made one especially for him, to make him miserable?! But he checked!! _Well, you checked about Rose_ , his stupid mind supplied unhelpfully – he never thought to check about any Weasley left behind! He didn’t know about them having any… wait a minute! Ron Weasley had _two_ children; how could he have forgotten?! Rose was one – a very prominent one at that! – and it seemed that the lucky number two was sitting in his classroom. Oh, bugger.

 _There’s no need to panic_ , he told himself – but at the same time he couldn’t help but think that this was a bad omen. A _very_ bad omen. Still, he could be mistaken! There was no proper light in the stupid dungeon that hosted Potions. Perhaps he was wrong…

“Merlin, I forgot what a tomb this place was. Let’s have a bit of light in here,” he heard his own measured, cool voice. “If any one of you goes blind I refuse to get blamed for it. _Lumos Maxima_!”

The light in the torches on the wall and the candles in the chandeliers intensified – but the Weasley child was still sitting there, stubbornly refusing to turn into someone else. It was a boy, freckled, tall and broad-shouldered, and with all the lights shining brightly, his Weasley-ness was even more pronounced. In the flames of the flickering candles, his hair glittered in a dozen different ways, the shades going from pure gold to crimson red, and the strands were pulled into a glossy, thick, messy plait spilling down his long, strong neck onto his shoulder like an exotic ginger snake. Even sitting down, Draco could tell he was at least a head taller than his classmates, and from his seat in the very last row, he seemed to be looking straight at Draco, like a king in his throne, unflinching. The boy had… a presence, there was no other way to put it. Even from across the classroom, his eyes looked strikingly blue and engaged, as if the boy’s magic reflected in them, and Draco suddenly felt strangely exposed under that hard, unrelenting stare.

He could barely hold back a miserable sigh. Of course the boy was not going to be friendly; he was a Weasley… Draco knew very well why he chose to avoid them. Still, he needed to remain professional – he couldn’t let one of the cursed spawn ruin his carefully planned lesson. After all, he was in charge here! He could take off house points, give the boy impossibly demanding and demeaning tasks as a means of punishment, or even send him to the headmistress if he proved to be too unruly. Yes, he was in charge! He could deal with a measly Weasley three times a week. He promptly pulled his eyes away from that curious stare that made him squirm, and walked to the blackboard with new determination to make his lesson memorable.

“I was informed by the headmistress that you made it all the way to page 394,” he wrote the number on the blackboard to occupy his hands and mind, “which is… good enough, I suppose, but not spectacular. We will attempt to do better, hopefully move faster by working harder. I will not have any slacking off in my class. That said, you are allowed to interrupt my lesson when your question is meaningful and you have something useful to contribute. If you can find your answer in the book, don’t waste my time. You are expected to study the books, of course, and anyone not completing their homework will be welcome to do so in my office, after hours, along with some extra chores.”

Nope, standing with his back to the classroom didn’t help either; he could still feel those eyes bore into the back of his head as surely as if the boy were touching him. Merlin, since when had focusing become so hard? Oh, but he wasn’t going to back away from a 16-year-old Weasley, was he?! He turned around in a manner more annoyed than the circumstances called for – and sure enough, the unknown Weasley child already had his hand up. Oh, no…

“I imagine I haven’t said anything so far that deserves further explanation,” he said in his coldest voice. “Yet some appear to be unable to understand the simplest instruction. Who are you, and what is it that you’re unable to understand?”

“I’m Hugo… Hugo Weasley, that is,” the boy spoke, and Draco had to suppress a shiver. The redhead’s voice was… sultry, there was no other way to describe it. Warm, and quite deep, and just… oh, blast, he didn’t even want to think it. His senses were always very voice-oriented and there was something in this boy’s voice that made him think of situations… and cravings… entirely inappropriate to this esteemed school. That thought irritated him even further.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’re going to be teaching us anything that isn’t in the books,” the boy explained calmly, looking entirely serious. “As you already pointed out – everyone here can read, we – well, _I_ – was hoping for a bit…” he smiled in a slow, leisurely, insanely infuriating way, and his piercing eyes flickered to life like two blue flames, “… extra.”

“Hugh, don’t…” a lean blond boy next to him spoke quietly, nervously, but it was already too late – Draco was now quite legitimately enraged. Bloody Weasley demon-child – he _knew_ it would be this way if he ended up with one of them in the classroom!

“Are you questioning my competence, Mr. Weasley?” he said in that chilly, intimidating voice he learned at his father’s knee.

“Oh, no… I wouldn’t dare,” the boy replied with another one of those slow, predatory smiles that made Draco’s hair stand up on the back of his nape. “Just your willingness to share it with us. And not questioning – just inquiring, really. You see, I’m here to learn – and if I’m only going to learn what’s in the books, then why bother? I’ve read them all during summer – and I was simply wondering if you’ve got… _more_ to offer?”

“Hugh… shut up, please, shut up,” the blond boy spoke quietly again, sounding a bit panicked. “You’ll get yourself another detention and we’ve got plans…”

“You know what isn’t in the books, Mr. Weasley?” Draco said coldly, forcing all of his anger into a stiff, ice-cold smile. “How to properly clean this classroom. And I mean every bit of equipment, every cauldron, every vial… even the floor. By _hand_ , no magic. Is that _extra_ enough for you?”

Again that slow… oh… absolutely _terrible_ … _insinuating_ smile that had no place in the classroom! The awful fiery-haired boy seemed completely unperturbed by his ire! He simply tilted his head gently, as if he was sizing him up, and then shrugged:

“Of course… if that’s all you’ve got to offer…”

“Oh, no…” the blond boy sighed miserably just as Draco barked:

“You’ll serve your detention tonight, in here, eight o’clock sharp!”

He could honestly barely stop himself from shaking with rage. That bloody… evil… redheaded devil! How was Draco supposed to hide just _how_ enraged he was?!

“And that’s twenty points off for interrupting me without a good reason!” he hissed as viciously as he could, and saw a few people in the front rows flinch at the tone of his voice.

“We haven’t got any points anymore,” the boy explained calmly. “The noble house of Slytherin lost all this morning – again – when I set the Greenhouse Three on fire… I swear I saw a baby acromantula hiding among the mandrakes – it seemed only fair to try and chase it away. It ended up being just a small fire, not much damage done, and Michael here –” he pointed to the blond boy, “– managed to save all the mandrakes. He even picked up the one that bit him a while before… proper Gryffindor, don’t you think? He actually _won_ his house points. Ours, alas, were irretrievably gone. McGonagall was furious.”

Draco was left staring – and he could barely stop his jaw from hitting the ground. What kind of a monster was this boy?! And _ohdearfuckinggod_ – did he hear this correctly? Was this Weasley Satan in _his_ house… in Slytherin?! Now, that certainly explained a thing or two!

“I can imagine,” he finally managed to exhale, and was surprised to find out that some of his fury morphed into some kind of curious awe. “And as a temporary head of the Slytherin house, I certainly expect you to think of a way to win those points back, Mr. Weasley… in the space of two months we have left…”

“I’m sure I can put in a bit… _extra_ ,” the boy’s freckled face stretched into a sweet lopsided grin, and the blue eyes blinked innocently. “I might even start tonight.”

Draco turned around so quickly he was sure he caused a tornado somewhere in Arizona, but he couldn’t get away from those piercing, smiling eyes… and he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that he’d somehow given the blue-eyed devil just what he hoped for.

~


	3. Chapter 3

Draco didn’t even know how he made it to the end of his lesson. He could hear his own voice go through the potion ingredients, the lore behind them, the desired effects, even the small anecdote he’d prepared, but even his audience’s sincere laughter couldn’t touch him. His eyes kept darting towards the back row as if they were hypnotised, as if he had something to prove – and he couldn’t wait for the finishing words to end this strange haze he’d found himself in.

“That should suffice to get you through the next lesson on Wednesday when you’ll put into practise – and into your cauldrons – what you learned about Wolfsbane potion today. And by then, I want you all to write ten points of must-not-do regarding the preparation of the Wolfsbane potion – I want to make sure there are no cauldron explosions in my class – the side effects, as I’m sure you know, are quite grave. You don’t want to attend your N.E.W.T.s in a year or so still covered in fur. That will be all for today. Class dismissed.”

The students got up from their chairs, and Draco’s eyes automatically darted towards the desk in the back, looking at… he had no idea what. The Weasley boy got up as well… and Draco actually felt a little faint. He was even taller than he appeared while sitting down, and even under his school uniform Draco could see that he was… well, _very_ attractively built. Those long legs went on forever, and the tight trousers of the school uniform clung like water to a rather magnificently shaped arse that made Draco swallow his drool… Oh, gods, he had hoped that these unfortunate teenage urges were long forgotten…  

He forced his spellbound eyes aways from the alluring bum, only to get stuck on the broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the school robes tightly, but then the boy casually pushed his long, glossy plait across the shoulder like it was some kind of annoying yet beloved pet – and their eyes met for a brief moment. And Draco couldn’t believe the hard, open challenge… the hidden invitation… whatever the fuck _that_ was in those intensely blue, predatory eyes, behind that sweet, mysterious smile hiding a thousand secrets. He could believe even less the way his body responded to the boy, who some primal instinct in him recognised as dangerous _._

He was trembling. His breath was stuck somewhere halfway to his lungs. And he barely stopped himself from trailing after the Weasley brat as if he’d been caught in a net dragging him behind the impressive freckled bastard. Everything was off the second he lay eyes on him. _Everything_. Carefully, as if in a trance, he walked to the chair behind his desk, _away_ from the tempting redheaded demon, and sat on it, trying to collect his thoughts, to rethink the situation rationally.

It wasn’t so bad. _Surely_ it wasn’t so bad. He was just overreacting. The Weasley boy… he was… he rattled him a bit, but Draco let him, didn’t he? He was always ready to expect and believe the worst of the Weasleys, and that boy pressed all his bad buttons. But Hugo didn’t actually say anything derogatory, did he? He wasn’t _really_ contemptuous. A bit arrogant, perhaps, but not really _that_ much across the line.

Perhaps there was still time to rescind that damn detention? His rapidly beating heart betrayed his inner turmoil all too well. He was… agitated… nervous… exhilarated – no, not exhilarated, more like… _alert_ at the thought that he was going to spend time alone, several hours even, in the company of a boy… well, a young man really… he literally knew nearly nothing about – other than that he had an uncanny ability to drive him crazy. But it would be like a defeat, wouldn’t it? He would look weak if he couldn’t… didn’t punish the Weasley boy. Clearly, he was some sort of godless menace to this school that, for some reason, no one talked about. So – he had to be put in his place. Anything else was out of the question.

Well, at least his ignorance about who – and how bad – Hugo Weasley was could be remedied quickly. He would find his son during the lunch break and have his son brief him about the enigmatic boy whose existence the world barely acknowledged. Scorpius was obsessed with the whole Potter-Weasley-Granger clan; surely he had some information on the redhead who had baffled Draco so.

He got up with new vigour in his step, eager to find Scorpius, but he didn’t make it much further than the door. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight in front of him. The object of his interest didn’t really go that far. Right across the entrance to the classroom, Hugo Weasley had his back turned towards him, pressing someone… oh, it was that blond, lean boy… against the wall – and judging by the small, needy sounds the blond was making, he was a happy recipient of some truly dedicated kissing.

Draco felt as if his insides had melted and all his blood rushed to all the wrong places. It was pounding madly in his head and filling his… bits… oh… and he couldn’t move. He was entirely mesmerised. Two boys kissing… He’d… he’d never even seen such a thing up close… and especially not in this honourable institution. It was entirely unthinkable and scandalous in his time… but apparently no more… and certainly not in the mind of the mad Weasley spawn – he didn’t really bother with hiding, did he?

Oh, but they were… he was… With searing and entirely misplaced envy, Draco realised that it had been a long time since he had last felt something even remotely resembling such unstoppable passion… if ever. Decades-old yearning, running too deep to be entirely forgotten no matter how much he tried, woke up inside him with a vengeance and reverberated through him like that one desperate desire he never quenched. He couldn’t take his eyes off them… him… Hugo… he barely saw the other boy.

Whatever Hugo Weasley did with his mouth, he was clearly capable of making his blond prey dissolve into a quivering, whimpering mess. The Gryffindor obviously no longer knew or cared where he was – and Draco lost track of the time and his location right along with him. His mad heart beating in his ears was making him dizzy, and he was absolutely flooded with a storm of the most impossible, incomprehensible feelings that he couldn’t even begin to untangle.

There was a sort of crazy, irrational jealousy he really had no business feeling, mixed with inexplicable indignation, as if something of his had been taken from him – which was quite insane in its own right – but it all paled in comparison to the savage, almost desperate need to take place of the blond boy, pressed into the wall and kissed senseless. Mad. Bedazzling. Impossible. Yet his awaking body and his rapidly hardening cock – oh, god! – didn’t think so. He hadn’t felt so deprived and helpless to stop himself from wanting what he clearly shouldn’t be wanting in ages. Clearly, the youngest Weasley was a common savage; a needy, passionate, utterly wanton brute who thought nothing of breaking every moral rule in existence by making out with his – male! – prey out in the open. In spite of the tiny voice screaming in panic somewhere at the background of his mind, Draco’s stupid, befuddled body evidently thought this was the most brilliant idea ever.

“Come on, Michael, baby… don’t be mad at me. I’ll make it up to you, you know I will,” the redhead’s low murmur reached his ears. “We’ll hang out another time. Want me to suck you off, babe?”

Draco was certain his rattling knees didn’t make them jump apart only because the blond – Michael – whimpered rather loudly:

“ _JesusbloodyChrist_ , Hugh… you can’t… we can’t… we haven’t even been on a date yet!”

“Who cares about a bloody date?” the redhead chuckled warmly, clearly entertained. “You know what’s at the end of it anyway… But if you don’t want to date me anymore…”

“Who wouldn’t want to date you?” the blond sighed. “It took me a bloody year to work up the courage to ask you out, didn’t it? And twice as long to find a gap in your endless string of boyfriends to put my foot in. I’ve wanted to date you… well, forever. But it’s just… every time we have something scheduled, you end up in detention, and all our plans go up in smoke. Why can’t you _behave_ for once?”

“Well, I can’t be something I’m not,” the redhead murmured softly. “You know I’ve got no bloody filter. It would just bother me too much when I’ve got something to say… or to do… to let it pass. It’s just… it isn’t me. You knew what you’d signed up for, didn’t you?”

“Yes… yes, I did,” Michael said a bit more calmly. “I’ve been bonkers about you ever since I saw you standing in the corridor, arguing with McGonagall fiercely about bringing your pet snake to school – _‘…because if mum allows it in our home, I don’t see why you can’t – it’s not a basilisk, you know?!’_. I’ve never seen anyone so passionate about anything in my life… I confess, I was a little taken with you that day. I might have dreamed about you,” the blond admitted shyly, and Draco realised, rather alarmed, that he had a sudden urge to punch the boy, with no rational explanation whatsoever.

“Awww, Michael Remus Corner, aren’t you a proper Gryffindor romantic?” Hugo chuckled warmly, and his arm snaked behind the boy’s back to bring him closer and engage in another deep, utterly debauched kiss that made Draco’s breath stick in his chest and his blood boil.

That… ridiculous Michael creature was so bloody short, he had to stand on his toes to get properly snogged by the tall Weasley demon! And he was awfully prudish and… a terrible match for the temperamental redhead. The sight of them together insulted Draco’s sense of aesthetic! All in all, they should be pulled apart immediately because this sort of behaviour was entirely preposterous and… and seriously inappropriate! Never in his day would anyone have _dared_ behave with such a lack of morals! Even that dreadful Daffodil… no… Carnation… no, that wasn’t it either… _ohbloodyhell,_ what was her name? The one that kept slobbering all over Ron Weasley in the sixth year?! Even she, whatever-her-name-was, had the decency to pick a dark corner – but those two… those two… in full view of a member of the staff!

“Hello, Father… er, I mean, Professor Malfoy,” a cheerful voice greeted him from the side, and Draco might have jumped a little. To the ceiling. That Michael abomination squeaked and jumped away from Hugo as well, but any awkwardness was drowned out by a shrill, angry voice coming down the corridor.

“Hugo Weasley!!! _There_ you are, Hugh! Don’t you _dare_ walk away, young man!”

Rose Weasley was approaching them with the speed of light, howling like a wounded Hungarian Horntail, and Draco used the general sense of panic and grabbed his son by the upper arm: “Walk with me, if you please…”

He’d just caught a sight of Hugo’s face when he turned away from his blond boyfr… _friend_ to face his sister, and at the sight of his face up close, Draco’s step nearly faltered, and he was left strangely breathless. The boy’s eyes were the bluest, most radiant colour Draco has ever seen, a gentle spray of freckles softened his defined features beautifully, and that mouth… ohhhh... rosy lips looking fresh and tempting, a bit swollen and tender from kissing, but generous and full… and _godtheywerepretty_ , all right? Hugo Weasley had the mouth of a fallen angel – simply made for sin, and when Draco’s memory treacherously supplied those seductive whispered words, _“Want me to suck you off, babe?”_ , he turned around like the fury and ran, ran, ran from his personal devil. He was barely aware that he was dragging his poor son behind like the whole castle was on fire.

He could still feel Hugo’s eyes on the back of his head, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that curious, incomprehensible look was back. But then he heard the redhead’s sultry voice, as calm and cheerful as if nothing had happened: “Well, if it isn’t my favourite _only_ sister! What can I do for you today, Rosie?”

“Don’t you Rosie me, you… you vandal!” Rose barked, as unrelenting and to the point as ever. “What is this that I hear about the fire in the Greenhouse Three?! Have you gone utterly insane again?! Have you got any idea how embarrassing this is for Mum?”

“There was a baby acromantula,” Draco heard Hugo explain calmly just before they turned the corner. “It’s not my fault no one saw it even if they’re bloody big. And you know, where there’s one, there are more… it was the only way.”

“You started the fire to get back at the mandrake that bit your boyfriend, you, you… complete idiot!” Rose’s howling followed them down the corridor, and Draco was fairly certain that someone in bloody Iceland was right now wondering who the idiot was that burned a greenhouse down…

“She’s a bit temperamental,” Scorpius said quickly. “But she means well. Hugo is… well, you’ve met him.”

“I most certainly have,” Draco said as calmly as he could, still not quite able to believe the luck that allowed him to get out of that beyond awkward situation. “What I wonder is why I never heard anything of him before. Not one thing, Scorpius… in fact, I barely remembered the boy existed. Isn’t that just a little bit… peculiar?”

“Well, yes,” his son confessed promptly. “He’s the odd one out. Not that, uhm… well-adjusted, as you might have noticed – at least most teachers do fairly soon; he doesn’t wait on introductions much. According to Rose, he was fine as long as he was staying at home. His dad… er, father adores him – and Rose always says that he made sure Hugo had all the confidence he never did. And, since it was mostly their father who raised them – with their mother being so busy – Ron Weasley is the only one Hugo has any consideration for whatsoever. But Rose says Hugo was never too enthusiastic about going to Hogwarts – he loved fiddling around their joke shop too much, and his greatest joy was always helping his dad and Uncle George with their inventions. He’s not that good with... structured environments,” Scorpius said, looking pensive, as if trying to choose his words with care. “He’s a bit of one-man-chaos, to be honest. But, of course, their mother insisted… and I don’t think he ever quite forgave her for that,” Scorpius said with a sheepish half-grin.

“Rose still thinks that in the end, he went to Hogwarts because his dad asked him to. Ron Weasley is so awfully proud of him, of how smart he is… and I think in the end he just wanted to make his dad happy.”

“So… he _is_ smart?” Draco asked, perplexed. Clearly the Weasley boy wasn’t just being arrogant…

“Off the charts clever!” Scorpius said happily, as if it was his own achievement. “You see, he’s got this funny sort of memory; he reads the books once – and mostly he does it at home, during summer – and he’s got them memorised. So, unless the teacher is particularly skilled, he gets bored a lot during the school year. He learns all the tricks he needs to know for Defence Against the Dark Arts from his uncle, _Harry…”_ –  Draco couldn’t believe his 17-year-old son still squealed a bit in childlike admiration when he said Harry Potter’s name! – “… he can do mean Transfiguration, and he’s been busy with his cauldron ever since he was a wee lad, learning how to cook and brew under his Grandma Molly’s care.”

Right… a proper wunderkind, Draco thought sourly. Why did he had to sit in his classroom, though?

“But nowadays, he spends half of his summers in the care of his Uncle Charlie in the dragon reserve – you saw how fit he is, didn’t you?” Scorpius continued with the same amount enthusiasm. “And his mum made sure she provided him with a special permit to practice underage magic with a responsible adult present – anything to keep him from being bored. Because when Hugo Weasley is bored or ticked off...” Draco’s son shook his head as if he didn’t quite have the right words.

“To put it mildly, all kinds of biblical disasters follow him like the plague does vermin. We’ve all been evacuated several times due to his experiments going wrong – or right, who knows? – and he always jokes that he likes to keep us on our toes,” Scorpius explained stoically to Draco’s horrified face.

“And how come I was never informed that such a perilous boy was roaming around this place?!” Draco choked out. “I’m a parent, I’m entitled to know when someone is endangering my son’s life!”

“Oh, Father, _please_ … let’s not be overly dramatic here,” Scorpius said so smugly Draco could almost see the shadow of smirking Rose Weasley standing behind him. “No one wants to risk having him expelled – half of the school is rather smitten with him, and he is definitely too much fun. Besides,” Scorpius shrugged, “I overheard McGonagall say, rather desperately at that, that he’s probably more danger out there than he is here, in the castle, receiving proper education. And there’s another thing…”

Draco’s son, a born diplomat by his grandfather Lucius’s reckoning, looked around as if he was making sure they were really alone before he whispered in a barely audible voice: “The word is, his mother keeps a person employed at the Ministry only to cover up for all the wretched _accidents_ he causes!”

Right. That certainly explained a lot about Hugo’s anonymity. It also made Draco realise that he had scheduled a detention with a demon-son of the ever-scary Hermione Granger-Weasley, and that even his own mother thought it was prudent to treat him with caution. It was barely noon, and it appeared he had already stepped in it.

“So,” he said cheerfully, trying to cover up his lack of confidence in dealing with an unhinged redheaded barbarian.  “Have you got any advice for your poor old father to survive two months with this… walking disaster?”

“Well, to be honest,” Scorpius shrugged and smiled sheepishly, “You could try… to like him? _I_ really like him. He’s never trying to be anything he’s not. And it helps... to like him. It’s like he can feel it. He never once looked down on me, even before Al and I… uhm, you know… even before last year, and he’s super protective about those he likes. Uhm, that baby acromantula - I’m not saying Rose is right about the reason why he started the fire, but she _might_ be. But when you hang around him, it’s never ever boring!” Scorpius said with the renewed enthusiasm he always barely contained when he talked about the kids of the Potter-Weasley-Granger clan.

“He’s always up to something, always busy learning, inventing something, improving another thing – he loves to play with Muggle technology! – or he’s happily pranking those who can’t stand him and, uhm, you know, messing around with his many boyfriends,” he said shyly, but then added quickly, as if trying to make sure his father didn’t get the wrong impression about the boy he clearly admired. “He doesn’t cheat, it’s not like that. He breaks up with them – or makes sure they break up with him – but then you blink and he’s got another one lined up already.”

Draco swallowed as covertly as he could. He didn’t quite know how to ask the question without seeming a bit too interested in the personal affairs of the student he’d just met.

“Well, in my time it was considered inappropriate to – what do you young people call it? – _snog_ anyone out in the open… and though I do understand that times have changed – it still seems rather unorthodox to see two boys, uhm, you know… I wonder – how is that tolerated?”

“It wasn’t, really,” Scorpius shrugged cheerfully. “Not until Hugo, anyway. It was a bit of a shock to get used to, to be honest. Most of us had never even seen such a thing… and I believe Professor Flitwick nearly fainted when he first came upon a 14-year-old Hugo snogging a 16-year-old Ron Macmillan in the hallway. _Any_ snogging in public would have been frowned upon, reprimanded or even punished, but two boys… For a while there was even talk of Macmillan being expelled – but that was where Hugo really threw his weight around. He absolutely refused to let Macmillan take the blame, and he penned a letter to McGonagall – and to his mother – with a less-than-covert threat that the next one would be to the Prophet. I believe he wrote that he refused to be punished simply for being a teenager and being himself. If I remember correctly, he put it: _“I like boys, only boys – I always did and I always will – and if girls can – why can’t I?”_ Oh, it was glorious!” Scorpius nearly squealed with excitement, but Draco actually felt a little faint.

To have that kind of courage… if only he’d dared back then, if only… but he never had. He was _never_ that brave, never would be, and neither was anyone else he came across. But a mere 16-year-old Weasley boy was. It felt sort of… miraculous.

“He got nearly all the students behind him; it was like revolution,” Scorpius continued excitedly, unaware how shaken he had left his father. “He took on McGonagall, calling the school practices _“medieval, unreasonable and cruel”_ , he sent a few, uhm, less tolerant boys to the hospital wing, and challenged his mother to intervene in the name of _“social justice and fighting prejudice"_. Because that’s the way he is,” Draco’s son said softly, almost as if he was proud to know a person who was willing to stand up to untouchable school rules.

“Uncompromising, and always himself. He simply doesn’t give a damn about the norm, and when he wants something, he fights for it tooth and nail, regardless of consequences. McGonagall finally backed down when it became obvious that Hugo was willing to get expelled for standing his ground, and Harry Potter himself came to school to intervene on behalf of his nephew.”

Well, that was unexpected… but why? Draco couldn’t fathom.

“No one knows why,” Scorpius answered his unspoken question, “And no one ever found out what went on behind the door of McGonagall’s office, but when Mr. Potter emerged from there, he walked straight to Hugo and told him how proud of him he was in front of everyone. McGonagall made a public announcement at the dinner that day that she expected the older students of all sexes and “pairing preferences” – her words, honestly – to uphold the level of morality at school by keeping outbursts of their teenage hormones under control and safely out of sight of the younger students – or risk detention. Which was, of course, a far cry from anyone being expelled, and it applied to _everyone_ snogging equally,” Scorpius explained brightly to his rather flabbergasted father.

“Even for those who had no interest in how this was going to play out, it felt like the students had won a victory. And as for Hugo – he and Macmillan broke up a week after that, but he’s never been short of candidates who are willing to risk detention for him since. With time, it gets hard not to like the guy,” Scorpius smiled happily, and Draco had to hold back a sigh.

He couldn’t help admiring the brass balls the stubborn demon-child had, taking on McGonagall and ages-old school rules – but did he _like_ the bloody menace? Not even remotely! He felt more like… like… well, he didn’t bloody _know_ how the boy made him feel, did he?! Hugo Weasley simply made him feel too much at once – as if had been numb for years, and now a 16-year-old boy woke up a swirling storm of feelings in him that he didn’t even know how to take apart and identify. The intriguing freckled imp drove him crazy in the worst possible way, and just the thought of those blue eyes staring at him boldly from that canvas of creamy, freckled skin… that slow, insinuating smile… that sweet, tempting mouth… _ohgod_ … and the sultry voice… the memory of him wrapped around the blond boy, which made his whole being simply scream _wrong_ – oh, damn. It made him hot and bothered, yearning and angry at the same time, and his frustration amounted to something not much different from hate, ready to erupt.

He was a mess – and he wasn’t a mess two hours ago, before he met Hugo Weasley. Guess whose fault it was? How was he going to survive a detention at this rate?! He was most likely headed to St. Mungo after the experience!

“Can I have my boyfriend back, Professor Malfoy?”

Startled, he looked into the smiling face of Rose Weasley and nodded before he thought better of it:

“Most certainly. I believe we’re done. But… no snogging,” he added awkwardly, just to keep some sense of authority around these bloody kids. “Especially not around younger students. I’d hate to give my own son a detention.”

“Oh, no worries,” Rose said smugly. “We’ll behave, won’t we Scorp?” she looked at his son with those radiant Weasley eyes, and Scorpius beamed like seven suns, and shyly took her hand, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was finally entitled to do so.

“Besides, Hugo tells me you’re busy tonight,” Rose said with mysterious smile, and Scorpius looked at his father with wide-eyes.

“You _already_ gave Hugo detention?” he stared at him in what looked to be a mixture of disbelief and pity.

“I believe I was well within my rights to do so,” Draco said stiffly. “The boy misbehaved. He was arrogant, insolent…”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Rose interrupted. “I grew up with him, I believe you. Just… uhm… good luck… I guess?” she giggled and pulled Scorpius behind her, and Draco’s son, with a helpless shrug and a blissful smile, trod behind his girlfriend.

Right. Even his own son thought Draco was toast. Bloody Weasleys! He knew it would be this way!

~


	4. Chapter 4

“Enter,” Draco said at a soft rap on his door. It was precisely eight o’clock, and he was nearly wrecked. Who knew this teaching business was so demanding? After so many years in near isolation, talking the whole day, interacting and generally oiling his communication skills had taken its toll, and he was finding himself irritated, snappy and short-tempered. And it didn’t bloody help that he could barely divert his mind from the meeting… well, it wasn’t a _meeting_ , was it? It was a bloody _detention_ , but the way his stupid mind processed it, one would think it was nearly a date! There was the same level of nervousness, the same agitation mixed with god-knows-what expectation – he’d even attempted to sort out his hair earlier in the bathroom mirror… ugh. He tried to reason with what little was left of his rational, tired brain that this was a 16-year-old _child_ , a _boy_ , Ron Weasley’s _son_ , _a Weasley_ , for heaven’s sakes – but nothing really worked.

Those blue eyes still burned in his memory when he let his mind wander, and the way the boy had looked at him – well, it was just too intriguing to chase out of his memory, wasn’t it? By Scorpius’s account, Hugo Weasley appeared to be someone exceptional – yet still as much of a mystery to Draco as he was when he’d first spotted him in the back of a classroom. He knew a lot more about the charismatic boy than he had before – but he’d come no closer to understanding how he had made such an impression on him in such a short space of time, how on earth … and _what_ , precisely, had he made him feel so _intensely_ , how left him so… flustered. There was some untamed element at the bottom of those fierce blue eyes that made Draco’s hair rise and his body prickle all over with some unidentified emotion, almost as if the mesmerising boy woke up something inside him that made him afraid… of himself, of his own reaction, of letting himself go – and he really couldn’t have that.

The thought of losing his precious control was all too unsettling, so he tried to devise a feeble strategy. He would make a quick business of the detention – sit behind his desk preparing for the following day while the boy worked for an hour or so – and then he would tell him to take this as a warning not to get too mouthy with him again – and let him go. That should earn him some good grace, and he would not come across as too hostile or – worse! – interested. His plan felt strangely… _unsatisfactory,_ but it was all he had. It would be for the best to put a bit of a safe distance between himself and the Weasley child.

If only the message had gotten to his foolish, excitable heart as well. It had been beating off-rhythm like a drunken circus ape ever since he had spotted the owner of the lustrous red hair in the Great Hall during dinner time, indeed sitting at the Slytherin table. He had to focus very hard not to stare, but though he kept his eyes on his plate so stubbornly he was sure he had insulted Madam Sinistra, who was trying to keep a polite conversation going, and he barely knew what he was eating. Every once in a while, his eyes would win the battle with his mind and wander towards the Slytherin table, leaving him strangely short of breath when they took in the image of the stately redhead, joking and laughing with his house-mates, unconsciously playing with that pretty, glossy, uncontrollable hair, the white teeth flashing in a smile, and sinking into food with delight…

God, it was nearly making him dizzy to look at the boy – all that colour, self-confidence, that joy and regal presence all in one! He barely noticed that every time he allowed himself to steal a glance, his eyes lingered longer. He’d fallen so deeply into his covert game of trying not to look, but looking all the same, that he never saw it coming when that Michael character stopped by the Slytherin table on his way out and pressed a shy, chaste kiss onto his boyf… friend’s cheek, only to be pulled down into Hugo’s lap with a squeal and snogged properly. If Draco had been holding a fork, this might have ended with _an accident_. He could scarcely recall wanting to hurt someone quite as much as he had wanted to hurt the skinny blond, which was, frankly, quite mad. Thank fuck for McGonagall.

“Weasley! Corner!” she immediately barked in a shrill voice. “What are you playing at?! Keep your hormones in check and to yourselves. I know your detention schedule is too busy to fit one more in, Mr. Weasley, but I’m sure you’d rather _not_ ruin the perfect no-detention record of Mr. Corner here!”

“Sorry!” Michael Corner squealed. “I didn’t know Hugo was… oh, never mind, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to hear, Mr. Corner,” McGonagall said dryly. “But I believe that if you wish to keep that promise, you should have picked a different boy to… take up with. Mr. Weasley here is hardly known for his saintly ways. I dare say he’s got no self-control whatsoever, and Merlin knows what’s left of his chastity.”

Bloody hell… Draco nearly choked on his apple crumble! McGonagall was always very straightforward, but he had no idea she was capable of such an attitude! While a flushed Michael Corner practically ran out of the Great Hall with a wave of snickers hitting him from behind, Hugo seemed entirely unperturbed. He gulped down whatever he was chewing and glanced at the teachers’ table for what seemed the first time that evening. His eyes stopped on Draco, and he smiled so angelically that the next breath never really made it to Draco’s lungs. Bloody cheeky boy…

“You know me so well, Headmistress,” the redhead said with that killer smile, and just as his eyes finally moved on to McGonagall, he got up. “Dad always says that when God was giving out self-control, I was standing in the line for detention. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a few more minutes to go and corrupt my boyfriend before the one true _pleasure_ of my life – my penalty time – begins.”

Draco never saw him leave. He was too busy discreetly trying to cough up a piece of that unfortunate apple crumble that was too big for his breathless throat. The boy nearly succeeded where his father had failed in their many brawls, and killed him.

Was it any wonder that the innocent, soft rap on the door of the Potions classroom half an hour later nearly made his agitated heart jump out of his chest? His every instinct screamed at him not to answer the door, to pretend that he was not in – perhaps he could say he forgot? – but in the end, he just… couldn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised that not only the thought of being alone with Hugo Weasley scared him – but that some insane part of him also trembled with anticipation.

“Enter,” he answered, and he immediately felt as if he had invited the devil himself in. Rightly so, as it turned out. Draco’s heart had nearly jumped to his throat when the tall redhead entered. The boy was… _breathtaking_ , there was no other way to put it. The faded blue Muggle trousers – jeans, were they? – were so low-cut they barely reached his narrow hips, offering a glimpse of milky white skin sprayed with golden freckles just above hip-bones that weren’t quite covered by that Muggle abomination called a T-shirt that clung tightly to a lean, defined stomach. He wore a button-down on top of that – only he never bothered to close any of the buttons – and though the beginning of May could still get quite chilly in the Scottish Highlands, Draco strongly suspected the lightning-blue garment was there only to bring out the colour of those amazing eyes.

Shit. Hugo Weasley was pure temptation on endless legs. His trademark glossy hair was tied into a sloppy bun on the at the base of his neck, and Draco had to swallow when his eyes caught on the escaped silken strands of red treasure reflecting the light of the torches and curling against Hugo’s neck. So much for his plan of putting distance between the Weasley spawn and himself. He nearly forgot to pick up his jaw from the ground.

“Good evening, Professor Malfoy,” the boy said cheerfully and rattled a bucket in his hand filled with cleaning supplies that looked suspiciously Muggle in origin. “Look, I even brought my own cleaning gear. With all the practice I get around here, Dad says I could go professional.”

“Would you care to explain your attire?” Draco barked instead of a “good evening”. For some reason, he felt utterly frustrated with the boy’s good spirits. This was supposed to be a punishment, for fuck’s sake, not a night of entertainment. “You ought to be wearing your school uniform!”

“While in class, yes,” Hugo said calmly with a sweet smile, putting down his bucket. “Chapter 2, section 2.1 of the School Manual. Mum made me read it when I was eleven. It says nothing about after-hours. Anyway, this is my working attire. Over the course of the years, I’ve learned that I can’t expect the house elves to get my clothes in order as fast as I’m able to… uhm, ruin them. It takes them overnight usually, and today’s set has tiny little burns from cinders. I’m sure they’ll have it ready by the morning. But until then…”

He shrugged, gave Draco one of those lazy, beautiful smiles, and without taking his eyes off him – _without as much as a bloody warning!_ – he slithered out of his button-down, only to reveal a clingy, fraying T-shirt with cut-off sleeves and a pair of bare, muscled arms. Draco suddenly felt quite hot and nearly dizzy. _It’s been a long day_ , he tried telling himself. _I’m just tired._

But his eyes were hopelessly glued onto the boy approaching him across the classroom like he was the executioner Draco had foolishly summoned himself, and he barely managed his own breathing. From up close, he could see that the T-shirt with the faded emblem of god-knows-what Muggle band was so tight that he could spot a hint of nipples under the material stretching across the broad chest, and the sight made his heart beat faster.

And his arms… they were just fascinating, weren’t they? All long muscle and milky-white skin, they looked surprisingly strong, as if the boy was practising some sport; but what made them look like proper man’s arms already was a multitude of faded burns and scars, some old, some barely healed, testifying that Hugo Weasley wasn’t a boy who bothered staying away from danger. But what really made Draco’s breath hitch was two gorgeous snake tattoos – a pair of tiny, identical silver-and-green pieces of art, swirling on top of each wrist like a magical bracelets. God, it was daring, and so very… very… _appealing_ , Draco thought helplessly as he felt his body respond to the proximity of beauty and hidden power he’d always had such a craving for.

He honest-to-god _tried_ to feel in charge, the remains of his rational brain screaming at him that he was the teacher – but when Hugo Weasley stopped in front of his desk, tall enough to be imposing, gorgeous as a statue made by an ancient sculptor, with those stunning blue eyes staring down at him – Draco didn’t only forget his position, he forgot his bloody name.

“What would you like me to start with, Professor?” the blue-eyed devil asked in that sultry, warm voice that made Draco struggle to suppress a shiver. He opened his mouth to reply, but then he made the mistake of looking up, straight into the handsome freckled face with those hypnotic eyes, and no words actually came out. Much to his horror, the sudden tightness in his trousers made him realise that _another_ body part had boldly volunteered to answer Hugo’s question, and the rest of his rational brain went to the dogs.

Merlin, since when had his bloody cock become so volatile?! Oh, he should have taken care of it before he went anywhere near the Weasley demon child, but he couldn’t have known how badly he would be affected by the boy. 16-year-olds had no business being so… so… _sexy_ , he thought miserably, finally giving up on finding a more suitable word. The boy was just a one-man-advertisement for carnal activities of the worst kind, and in didn’t help one bit that he was standing just an arm’s length away… his for the taking…

No! _Bloodyhellno!_ Where the actual fuck did such a demented thought come from?! Jesus, his solitude had clearly made a proper pervert out of him! He should never have gone near hormone-pumped teenagers – it seemed as if he had caught some of their randy ways! All those tense, young bodies, the daring lack of shame and propriety, that sweet innocence mixed with bold attitude, the intoxicating, rich, earthy smell of boys on the verge of manhood, ohhhh… god, he’d been a fool to come!

“Professor, are you all right?”

Oh, Merlin – he noticed. The redhead devil noticed that something was off, and those magical blue pools were focused on him, and the blond realised miserably that he even found the tiny frown on that freckled face adorable. Any time now, he would lean forward, and Draco would be hit by the warm, boyish scent of milky skin, and there would be no going back. He needed to do something about it, something quick… even if stupid… divert attention… jump him… Merlin’s fluffy pants!

“Yes! I’m… never mind… _there_ ,” he choked out in a last desperate attempt not to utterly embarrass himself, stretching his shaky arm in the direction of the dusty cupboard in the most distant corner of the room, overflowing with vials, tiny bottles, spooky jars, and dirty mixing bowls that looked as if it had been ignored for the last century or so.

“You sort that out. And… and make it spotless.”

Anything. Draco realised he was willing to say and order the alluring boy to do any damn thing to keep him as far away as possible from his angry, hungry cock, screaming at him for being denied too long. _JesusMerlin_ , he couldn’t even remember when he last… gave in into his more carnal desires, but his body had certainly woke up now, and stubbornly demanded a piece of the gorgeous blue-eyed temptation standing much too close. The Weasley demon needed to move away, far and quickly, or Draco would no longer be responsible for his actions.

But, as if he was somehow aware of Draco’s internal struggles, Hugo’s eyes followed his outstretched arm immediately, and another one of those stunning smiles quickly blossomed on the pretty face. The crazy boy actually _whistled_ appreciatively, as if he had come across a masterpiece, and then chuckled softly as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. _Well, fuck me backwards,_ Draco thought in awe, the youngest Weasley appeared to have a dirty furniture fetish. He definitely _sounded_ as if he was impressed!

“Good choice, Professor! Would you look at that thing! A right piece of art if I ever saw one! It’s almost a shame to destroy it! But…” the redhead sighed theatrically, “your wish is my command. Tonight, I’m here to serve,” he stated and gave Draco one last sweet, mischievous smile that lit up his eyes like blue lightning, before turning away and leaving the blond desperate and wondering if there was perhaps an imprint of his jutting, rampant cock somewhere on the ceiling.

Even watching him move away, him and his bloody… silly… adorable bucket, was making him hard. Those Muggle jeans… seriously. Some evil genius must have designed them to tempt and torment those who could not touch. They looked positively painted onto those long, muscled legs, making it impossible for Draco to take his eyes off the delectable curve of Hugo’s firm bum. God, that glorious arse… it was calling his name, that’s what it was doing! The way it moved, barely covered, round and shapely, simply begging to be touched, cuddled and worshipped.

Stop… he needed to stop. He needed to get away… get out. Only for a while. But then the boy stopped in front of the cupboard and took the most… ridiculous pink… feathered, fluffy object on a stick out his bucket and began expertly removing all the cobweb, moving the vials with care, and heavy jars as if they weighed nothing, and whistling an unknown tune softly to himself. The scene was so ridiculous Draco couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Wha – what are you doing?” he choked out. “Merlin, what is this thing? It looks like a strangled chicken!”

“Well, you told me I’m not allowed to clean using magic,” Hugo turned around, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “I didn’t even bother bringing my wand! _This…_ is called a _duster_ , and it’s perfectly Muggle. It’s a bit shabby, I’ll give you that – sadly, the staff in this place is not very innovative in giving me detention, so my duster gets a lot of work. But the Headmistress absolutely forbade that I bring the vacuum cleaner again – which is a shame, because it’s much more effective than the duster. Electricity won’t work in here, obviously, but I’ve got one running on batteries…”

Upon seeing a completely dumbfounded look on Draco’s face, he smiled apologetically and explained with a big grin on his pretty, freckled face:

“You have to remember that I’ve got one set of Muggle grandparents, Professor Malfoy. My family owns a Muggle car – dad even learned how to drive… well, sort of. I’m perfectly comfortable in the Muggle world, and let me tell you – they have some wicked devices! Take this duster, for example. The design is hundreds of years old, and as such, awfully inefficient – it practically only moves the dust around. The vacuum cleaner, however, literally eats every speck of dust up and stores it all in a built-in container. Isn’t that ingenious? Though, I admit, it could be a tad improved,” the boy explained with that glorious, enthusiastic smile. “It’s awfully loud, and once I brought it here, the sound was so amplified by the walls that all the ghosts and most of the people from the paintings ran away and only came back days later. I tried the Silencing Charm, but it doesn’t exactly work on machines… well, it didn’t on this one… actually, it might have made things a tad worse. So… uhm, Headmistress McGonagall won’t let me use it anymore,” he concluded, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I’m stuck with the duster,” he waved around the ugly, shockingly dirty thing that happily released a puff of fresh dust, and turned back to the filthy cupboard.

“I can’t imagine the tragedy,” Draco murmured, realising that he was strangely fascinated by the boy’s obvious enthusiasm. It made those magical eyes glitter, and he got to watch that killer smile and hear that warm voice… yeah, he was basically fucked. More so with every passing moment in Hugo’s company. Enduring a 16-year-old boy rambling on animatedly about the Muggle contraptions – and liking it! – because he couldn’t take his eyes off his amazing arse – that was what he’d been reduced to these days. Someone alert his father, he needed saving.

“But I haven’t quite given up on making it work yet,” the Hugo said unexpectedly, and nearly knocked Draco out with a sexy, smug smile thrown in his direction. “I smuggled my vacuum cleaner into the castle after the Christmas holiday – and I’m working on removing the sound.”

Jesus, that boy just never gave up, did he? Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry over him and his Weasleyish bluntness.

“Should you be telling me that?” he asked softly, but Hugo just threw him another glance across his shoulder, and smiled beautifully.

“I trust you,” he said simply. “You’re the Head of my house. You’d never give me up to a Gryffindor.”

Well, there was just one explanation, really: the boy was perfectly mad. And… _right_ , as the blond realised in shock. He’d never give him up to McGonagall. But how the hell did he know that?!

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Hugo turned back to the unfortunate piece of furniture and lifted the appalling pink thing with renewed vigour: “I have a date with my duster. Given the state of this cupboard – and this room in general – I’ll be going at it all night.”

And Draco just sat there, as if glued to his chair, and watched those magnificent muscles move with his throat going drier by the second.

“Merlin,” the redhead suddenly chuckled warmly, sounding entertained, and wiped his forehead with his wrist. “What have we got here? I recognise this insane colour. Unless I’m mistaken – and I doubt that – some poor fool put an Exploding Potion next to Dittany – which is highly flammable, of course. You have a fire hazard here to say the least, Professor Malfoy. Look.”

And before Draco could react, Hugo Weasley was approaching him across the room on those long, unstoppable legs and Draco inhaled several lungfuls of the warm, mind-melting mixture of flushed skin, pine wood-polish, and the boy’s rich, edgy personal musk, so incredibly… fucking… _godhelphim..._ tempting; he could barely keep back a whimper. He could literally feel his cock swelling rapidly between his legs, and he was afraid to move, or he would jump the boy as sure as his balls were about to burst. There was no point beating about the bush: the enticing scent of Hugo Weasley’s body was Draco’s ultimate poison. There was something about the carnal fragrance of hot skin, rosy with physical activity, that filled his head with dizzying fantasies, made him weak, made him crave, and drove him fucking barmy. And he could do nothing about it. Nothing helped.

 _This is a student_ , he tried telling himself but the thought had turned meaningless and incomprehensible before it reached his solid cock, aching for release. _He’s sixteen… only sixteen…_ his reason shrieked in panic – _but just for a few more months_ , his perverted urge whispered back, _and look how willing he is_. _Ron Weasley’s son!_ His mind, blurry around the edges, tried one last time, but his memory unhelpfully undermined that small effort by supplying an image of his younger self, naked, flushed with desire and panting, riding his own fist furiously while thinking of pale, sun-kissed skin, long lean limbs and the angry blue eyes of a certain redhead, and he nearly moaned out loud in surrender. He forgot how bad he used to have it for the boy’s father in the worst fits of teenage hormones – but the son standing in front of him was a thousand times more temptation.

He could never have Ron Weasley – his redheaded nemesis never saw an inch beyond his obsession with Potter – even in his short, terrible, unbecoming crush he realised that… but his mind came up completely blank when he tried to find reasons why he was not allowed to reach out for his son. Because this time it was different. Because this Weasley was his for the taking. Which was… not exactly true, was it? Oh, for hell’s sake, someone slap him to his senses; he’d clearly gone insane!

Oh, but Hugo was a whole different story, wasn’t he? He wasn’t anyone’s shadow like his father had been, oh no… One look at him – staring at Draco across the table, unflinching, with a deadly aquamarine potion in his hands and that daring, killer smile stretching the supple, sinful mouth – was enough to turn Draco’s insides to jelly. It was completely irrelevant that the redhead was just a student – the blond knew a conqueror when he saw one. No wonder his mind liquefied in Hugo’s presence – even after all those years when he did well on his own, he still longed for someone to follow, and everything about Hugo Weasley screamed that this boy was a natural master.

 _“Always such a little bitch!”_ Ron Weasley had hissed at him once during one of their many fights, but he didn’t know that Draco _craved_ to be _someone’s_ little bitch. He could never let anyone know, though and with time, he had come to believe that he had successfully buried those mortifying urges he had forbidden himself to act upon for so long. But along came one freckly, blue-eyed Weasley incubus with his glossy red hair, scarred arms, and snake tattoos – and all the years of Draco’s self-denial had gone through the window like a puff of smoke. He found the boy terrifyingly irresistible.

“Professor?” Hugo’s warm voice interrupted his trance, and the deep, sultry texture of it made the blond bite his lip to keep back a humiliating, submissive sound.

“Is there something…?”

“Yes! No!” Draco blurted out, desperately fighting for some self-control. “Put the potion on my desk. And… leave the cupboard for now, it’s clearly dangerous. I’ll deal with it myself later.”

“Oh, wicked,” Hugo commented cheerfully, “I was getting a bit choked on all that Merlin-era dust – not to mention soaked! Look at the state of me!”

Without as much as a warning, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, and Draco’s jaw nearly hit the desk in shock and awe. The redhead’s frame was in that perfect stage of transition to manhood when the long, beautifully defined muscles began building bulk that would one day make him into a proper beast of a man. His torso was already such chiselled perfection that would make any museum of classical art proud. A thin, silver necklace, looking every bit like a live serpent, slithered down the surprisingly elegant neck, past those delicious clavicles begging for a lick, only to end up swinging like a lure between the two erect nubs the colour of a dusty rose.

But Draco’s mind literally froze at the sight of Hugo’s wide chest. Merlin’s hairy testicle, that… that _evil walking temptation_ had an actual tiny dragon-shaped ring shamelessly adorning one of the little peaks! Draco wasn’t sure if his helpless whimper didn’t make it out after all. He could do little else but swallow his drool and pray he wasn’t doing it too obviously. His bewitched eyes kept wandering in the direction of that captivating silver dragon as if it were a deadly Siren calling his mouth to worship. Shirtless Hugo Weasley was a thing from his most wanton dream. The boy was such… fucking… _ohgodfuck_ , someone help him!

“Look – dirty,” the boy ran his fingers down his dust-covered arms, “ – and clean – well sort of,” he pointed to the gorgeous body that was in dire need of its own cult and some serious, dedicated reverence, because there was no way was that thing of beauty from this world. “See the difference?” he smiled sweetly, and those big blue eyes blinked innocently. “So, can I go now? With some luck, I can still catch my boyfriend awake and…”

“No!”

Merlin’s lame thestral… Draco could’ve hit himself over his own folly. He was given this one chance to let the boy go and preserve some of his dignity and decency, but the sight of a shirtless Hugo had successfully fried his brain: he could not let someone else own that gorgeous body, not tonight. The thought of Hugo with… someone… anyone else, was unbearable. It only took one careless moment for his folly to take charge, protesting loudly – and the damage was done.

“You… need to clean the floor… around the cupboard,” he babbled just to say something. “Some of the Dittany might have spilled and… it’s dangerous,” he finished miserably. God, someone remove him from the presence of this venomous boy; he was turning into an untamed, savage version of himself he barely recognised.

“Oh… I see… well, we can’t have that, can we,” Hugo said softly, with those eyes still fixed on Draco’s face like a true predator. “I best get to it. I’ve got everything ready but water, really.”

He turned away to get his bloody bucket and once again left Draco staring ahead of himself blankly, with the itchy, unnerving feeling that he had given the boy just what he wanted. But why would Hugo Weasley want to stay and clean rather than go and meet his boyf… friend? It made no sense… _unless_ he knew exactly what he was doing to Draco and he enjoyed tormenting him? Oh, Merlin’s dead Crup, it would be such a Slytherin thing to do! Was the Weasley boy really _that_ intuitive? Or – an alarming thought – was Draco really that obvious?

The blond looked in the direction of that impossible Weasley menace with angry frustration – but instantly forgot his every thought because… Because Hugo-bloody-Weasley was standing in front of a turned-on faucet, a gorgeous red dragon with green eyes tattooed on the small of his back, and he was pouring water all over himself as if no one was watching. This boy… oh, _bloodyMerlin’s beard_ … he was… he was going to be the death of him.

“Just… what in Salazar’s name do you think you’re doing?!” the blond choked out, hating how angry and miserable he sounded – and once the words were out, he realised that it wasn’t the smartest of questions.

“Just rinsing myself off for a bit,” Hugo replied calmly, not bothering to turn, and splashed water into his face. “You have no idea how hot and filthy I am; I need to wash the worst of the grime off. But don’t worry,” he said with playful mirth as he leaned forward to let the water wash the dust off those muscled shoulders. “I’m not going to do any of the naughty bits. I don’t have a death wish, do I? Have you by any chance got a towel?”

“Look… I don’t know what you _think_ you’re doing…” Draco started, going for haughty, but his shaky voice disappeared as a very wet and very stunning Hugo Weasley approached him across the room with droplets of water still running down that magnificent pale body, amplifying the clusters of golden freckles like the little suns.

“Have you?” Hugo asked innocently, his eyes sparkling like two pools of magic, and the blond, lost for words, only shook his head.

“Magic, then?” the Weasley demon said with a dreamy smile, and tilted his head gently as if tempting him. “Please?” he added, and stretched out his arms as if he was trying to show just how harmless he was.

And Draco just swallowed. And swallowed some more. Then he lifted his wand shakily, and whispered the Hot-Air charm, following the contours of Hugo’s body with the tip, and trying – quite hopelessly – to control his breathing.

But when the wand brushed against the ornamented ring in his nipple, and circled around it, making the little metallic dragon with sapphire eyes puff at him angrily, Draco could no longer keep quiet, or he would have whimpered out loud.

“Where did you get that?” he blurted out. “How did you make your parents agree to something so… _extravagant_?”

“Uncle Charlie’s,” Hugo said softly. “And only my dad knows. He flipped a little, but then figured out it wouldn’t do him much good since the deed was done, so to speak. Made me promise not to tell Mum… but frankly, he shouldn’t have bothered, Mum’s hardly ever there… don’t know when she would notice such a thing. Anyway, I only have to worry about that for another two months, don’t I? I turn 17 the first day of holidays, and she won’t have a say in it anymore.”

“But why… why would you want such a thing… in you?” Draco babbled, desperate to conceal just how empty of everything other than Hugo his head was. The proximity the boy’s skin was driving him absolutely spare, but he just couldn’t… he couldn’t quit. It was the sweetest kind of torture. Hugo didn’t answer right away. He turned around to let him do his back, and when a stream of hot air hit him, he sighed contentedly:

“Merlin, you’re heaven-sent, Professor. Well… about the nipple-ring – that’s what they’re called, yeah? It’s not that I mind answering your question… but I’m not sure you’re ready for the answer,” he said quietly in that soft, sultry voice that went straight to Draco’s cock. The tip of Draco’s wand reached the red dragon at the small of Hugo’s back, making the beast release an agitated puff of smoke, and when Draco’s wand drew a pattern outlining the dragon, that magnificent arse tensed beautifully.

“Why?” Draco repeated his question, breathless, and not entirely sure he had more than one word in him.

“For sex,” the redheaded devil replied calmly, without a moment’s delay. “My… partners like it, and it drives me wild when someone pulls on it while we… you know… while we’re at it. And the beast has this habit that’s just… see for yourself.”

He turned around so unexpectedly that it knocked the breath out of Draco, and before he knew it those blue eyes were on him, and Hugo had taken his free hand captive and brought it to his chest. His hands were amazing – just a tad cold from the water, but the strong, calloused hands of a real man who simply took what he wanted without bothering about the consequences.

“Feel it,” Hugo ordered – because that’s what it was; that was what Draco heard: an order, and he took it without thinking twice. He was born for this… born to submit, ready to take orders, all too eager to please… everything else was just a mask.

The tiny metallic ring was between his fingers, and Hugo’s fingers wrapped around the palm of his hand, when he brushed against the scaly texture of the ornament. And as if he had triggered a spell, the tiny creature’s eyes glowed with a familiar sapphire hue, and it slowly wrapped its tail around Draco’s finger.

“Don’t you just love it?” Hugo purred quietly so close to his ear, it nearly made the blond lose it. “But that’s not all it will do.”

And as if on cue, the charmed little beast opened its mouth and swallowed the tip of Draco’s finger… and as soon as the teeth scraped against the skin gently, at a maddening slow pace, creating that precious sensation between pleasure and pain, the blond finally lost his battle and gasped in quiet surrender.

“It’s charmed that way…” Hugo murmured. “You can’t blame me for wanting that beauty on me. He’s so much fun to play with. Now, tiny, stop harassing Professor Malfoy!” Hugo’s hand momentarily covered Draco’s as the long fingers stretched over it to pet the beast down its back, and the metallic little monster obeyed the unspoken command immediately and released Draco’s finger. The blond nearly whimpered in disappointment.

“I guess we’re done here,” Hugo said softly, not taking his predatory eyes off Draco for a second – and not moving just yet either. “With drying, that is. I reckon you’d like to have your hand back now?” he chuckled sweetly, and that beautiful, forbidden mouth flashed one of those breathtaking smiles that made Draco want to sink his teeth into his lips, lick it off, and own it.

But then the warm fingers let go off his hand and it wasn’t right… it wasn’t even fair! He needed those fingers on him, he needed more… oh, god, what was happening to him?! With some distant part of his brain – still working but not having any influence whatsoever – he registered how very helpless he’d become with Hugo standing so close, but he didn’t care… he was too busy being desperate for more. The very scent of that warm skin with a million sunny galaxies so close up was making Draco’s head spin, and he had the sinking foreboding that he was going to do something forbidden and stupid, but he couldn’t, for the love of God, stop himself. He couldn’t think straight…

“Thank you… you know, for helping me get dry,” Hugo said in a subdued voice, and he bit his lip gently like a troubled child, making Draco’s cock press against the confines of his trousers painfully, flooded with the violent need for release and for some urgent attention. “You might just turn out to be my favourite professor to date.”

And without so much as a warning, he leaned forward and pressed a small, warm kiss just near Draco’s ear, and with that hot breath teasing his ear, the blond closed his eyes and saw stars. He could barely hold back a gasp when the redhead moved away.

“It’s a bit late,” Hugo murmured. “And the School Manual says no detention should be longer than four hours – Chapter 11, section 11.2, I believe. There’s still a bit of time left, so I could start… but I couldn’t finish. Shall I just return tomorrow? You think we’ll be safe from fire by tomorrow?”

“I… yes,” Draco said helplessly, unable to open his eyes just yet. He knew he had to let Hugo go… he knew the redhead was saving him from himself… he knew he shouldn’t have let him go that far in the first place… but he’d be a sane, reasonable man again tomorrow. Tonight he would just do the unthinkable if he opened his eyes again with that devil of a boy still near. And his torment wasn’t over yet.

“You know, you might have cost me my boyfriend, Professor,” he felt that warm, maddening breath tease his ear again, and he put all his willpower into trying not to moan wantonly, and beg him to stay. “I just might have to dream of you.”

Draco’s cock was out as soon as the door clicked, and his _Colloportus!_ was hasty and sloppy. He needed to do this, needed it too much, that goddamn boy… with his goddamn soft mouth… his nipple-ring and his tattoos… and those regal blue eyes… with that skin that smelled like nights filled with smouldering passion, burning out in long, delicious fucking that could make him scream and beg for more, making his toes curl once he was allowed to come… yes… yes… _ohgodfuckHughyes_!!

He flooded his fist like a teenager, and his knees went soft, as if they were made of putty. Oh, _Jesusfuck_ , that boy… Hugo… oh, those bloody Weasleys… Draco realised that they’d made one mad, dangerous Weasley to his taste after all. Oh, damn… damn. What the hell was he to do?

~


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello, Professor,” Hugo said with a smile when he passed him with those long legs on his way to the Great Hall, and just like that, Draco’s day – which had been pretty plain and satisfactory up until then – was ruined and made in a single moment.

“See you in an hour.”

Merlin, yes… that was just it. He had another detention – or rather an extension of the calamity from last night – scheduled for that evening, and he was going half mad with it. He’d barely slept the night before, unable to comprehend his own motives and just _what_ it was about Hugo Weasley that made his head spin so out of control and made him into a man he could barely recognise. Away from the redhead’s hypnotising presence, he could barely imagine what possessed him, and he vowed a thousand times to try and do better. There was no permanent damage done yet. He hadn’t _done_ anything to the boy… or _with_ the redheaded menace. That one kiss… Draco had been on the receiving end of it, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like _he_ ’d done anything indecent. And he wouldn’t. Hugo Weasley was a mere student, that’s what he was – and that was how he was going to be treated. He undeniably… affected him, but now Draco was aware of it and he could fix it… take precautions, keep away from the boy and his savage… Weasleyness.

Except when he had finally fallen asleep he dreamt of a tiny, scaly dragon sliding between his fingers, of those blue eyes burning like lightning in the background, of that hot breath teasing his ear, and the words _“I just might have to dream of you”_ woke him up like a nightmare would, only he was rock-hard and simply burning to be touched. He wanked again for the second time in a space of mere hours, though he could not recall such a thing since his teenage years, before all the darkness entered his life. But he couldn’t… stay like this, so… unsatisfied and edgy. At least the temporary bliss that followed his release got rid of some of his tension – and maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to let himself go _before_ he got near Hugo Weasley. That way he would be more composed, more calm and ready to face the unruly boy. Less needy.

Perhaps that was it. He hadn’t been very sexually active for… well, for years, actually! Even before Astoria… Draco sighed. He loved his late wife to bits – as far as he was concerned, she’d saved him in more ways than one – but if he was entirely honest, she was not… _quite right_ for him in bed, even though he had never let her know! Perhaps this sort of tension tended to pile up, and it was only a matter of time before it sought an outlet? It was possible that it wasn’t Hugo Weasley’s fault at all! Just… Draco not having enough sex.

It was certainly the sort of thing he should look into once he left this blasted school. He would never marry another woman again, of that he was certain – yet there were discreet _services_ for men like him, who wished to take care of their needs nevertheless. Yes, he would definitely look into that. But he had to survive these two months first – and Hugo. The boy could cause more damage than the Battle of Hogwarts for all Draco cared – the blond was determined never again to set him the sort of punishment that required the two of them to be alone in the same room! He would survive the… _episode_ this evening somehow. He’d go into full Snape mode if he had to – but that would be it for that bloody Weasley boy and his sensual smile, and his tattooed decorated body, and… Right, he wouldn’t think of it any more, it was bringing all the wrong thoughts forward.

It did wonders for his confidence that he didn’t have a Potions class with the sixth years that day. The seventh years seemed reasonably well prepared for their N.E.W.T.s, and the first years were in awe when he charmed some green smoke into the shape of a doe from his cauldron. All in all, he was getting used to this teaching business, and without the threatening… well, not _threatening,_ but… but… alarming, irksome, irritating – oh, something along those lines! – without the presence of Hugo Weasley in his class, he was beginning to like what he was doing, and it certainly helped that it was distracting him from his rather befuddled head.

But he hadn’t counted on the chance encounters such as this one. Hugo didn’t show up to the morning meal – which brought Draco much needed relief, but at the same time he couldn’t help wondering what made the redhead skip the meal, what would make him so tired, who… Oh, he needed to stop, and stop he did, even if it meant listening intently as Sinistra rambled on about her kneazle’s bowel trouble. After that, he might have gone a tad carefully towards his classroom, looking left and right in case he spotted alarming red hair – but much to his chagrin, every other child appeared to be a redhead these days! Just how many children did the Weasleys spew out?! There were so many freckled faces that he barely knew where to look to avoid seeing one, and his vigilance suffered greatly! In the end, he just gave it up as a bad job – and let himself relax. And of course, the evil gods chose that moment to throw _that_ redhead at him.

 _“Hello, Professor,”_ he had said – barely anything more than that – but it was spoken in that sultry voice, with that radiant smile, and in full view of _that_ time-stopping arse – and Draco’s legs seemed to have frozen on the spot. How did the bloody boy do that?! Draco literally had to stop and pull himself together because his softened knees seemed incapable of holding him up.

“You gave Hugo another detention?!” his son, walking next to him as a line of defence – clearly not a very good one! – asked him, sounding puzzled. “I mean, this is Hugo, of course; it’s not _entirely_ uncommon – he _might_ have been behind Peeves bombarding Professor Sinistra with rotten eggs after breakfast until she had to be saved by McGonagall – but I thought he didn’t have a class with you today.”

 _Ohdeargod_ , what had he gotten himself into?!

“No, of course not,” Draco tried to put his scattered thoughts into a fairly reasonable sentence. “We… _he_ didn’t finish last night… that is, he didn’t do everything I expected him to do, so we agreed… actually, I’ve ordered him to come back.”

That had to be the most pathetic attempt at lying in wizarding history, Draco thought miserably. He felt terrible lying to his son, but Salazar’s holey sock – how could he possibly avoid it?! He wasn’t going to admit to the temporary loss of sanity that led him to let Hugo go in order to avoid literally jumping the tempting boy, was he?!

“Well, be nice to Hugo today,” Scorpius said smoothly, but barely holding back his excitement. “He broke up with his boyfriend this morning. Oh, it was apparently _such_ a scene! Michael was shouting so hysterically, even Rose heard bits of it all the way up in the girls’ rooms, though they were allegedly standing in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. He was howling something along the lines of ‘ _not good enough… never having time… always screwing up… embarrassing me… wasted three years waiting for you…’_ – to which Hugo replied: _‘I didn’t actually ask you to, did I?’_ which prompted Michael to scream louder about Hugo being mad as a hatter and how he thought Hugo was going to change once they were together, ending with: _‘You can’t do this to me!’_  Seriously, those crazy Gryffindors!” Draco’s son shook his head in disbelief.

“I mean – you _don’t_ _say_ such a thing to Hugo, that’s practically a dare to him! A second later, it all went quiet, then there was a thump on the floor and a bang on the door, and of course it was a while before any of the people standing in the common room listening in found someone brave enough to open the door. By that time, Hugo was gone, but Michael was there, petrified, gift-wrapped, and with a note: _‘I believe this one is yours. He’s too normal for me.’_ That’s classic Hugo for you,” Scorpius chuckled. “Not the guy you want to challenge.”

Draco’s knees actually went a little softer at this detailed description. It appeared Hugo Weasley was even more available today than he was last night… Oh, fuck him backwards! Now, if only his crazy imagination would kindly refrain from going into overdrive… It never crossed his mind up until that moment, but Hugo had left with nothing but a kiss – and he could have stayed and done much more damage than he ended up doing. Draco would have let him, he knew he would; it wasn’t like he had any reservations left by the time that gentle kiss landed on his cheek. But the redhead didn’t… _because Hugo didn’t cheat_. Scorpius was very clear about that. But from this morning on, Hugo was as free as a boy could be… and open to… other options.

“Excuse me,” Draco said to his son stiffly, relying on 43 years of his Malfoyness not to reveal just how faint and scrambled he was on the inside. “I might have to talk to someone about their detention.”

Without bothering to even look at his son rooted to the spot with open mouth, Draco tried not to rush too obviously behind Hugo. He had to cancel the bloody detention. He had to. It was the only way.

Draco spotted him from afar, as if his eyes were somehow pulled towards the fiery head towering above all others, and the closer he got, the heavier his legs seemed to become. By the time he stopped behind Hugo’s back, he had to. His legs didn’t seem to want to move any longer. The noise of the students at the Slytherin table slowly subsided as they noticed his presence, and eventually, Hugo stopped eating and turned around. Those brilliant blue eyes looked straight into his face, bold, unflinching, challenging – and Draco just stood there like a frozen log, and couldn’t, for the love of god, come up with words.

“Weasley…” he tried with dry throat, just to say something, but the rest just wouldn’t come. He’d come here to make Hugo stay away from him – and he couldn’t bloody do it.

“Professor Malfoy! What can I do for you?” Hugo said calmly, and when he casually fixed a lock of his fiery hair behind his ear, Draco caught a glimpse of the green and silver snake swirling around his wrist under the immaculate cuff. How was he supposed to tell him to stay away when all he longed to do was to pin that narrow wrist to his lips and feel the milky skin come to life under his mouth?! Hugo was _available_ now, he absolutely could. Oh, god, where did that mad thought come from?!

Draco desperately tried to think of his morning resolutions to be cool, composed, and distant in the presence of the alluring boy, but under the spell of those masterful eyes, they seemed utterly silly, pointless and impossible. He wasn’t the one calling the shots. He could barely talk. It was rapidly becoming very clear to him that if he wanted to cancel their time together – oh, if only his bloody brain registered that it was a _detention_ , not picnic or a rendezvous! – he should have sent an owl. At least the redheaded demon couldn’t charm a bird into forgetting what it came for… could he?

But, bloody hell, he couldn’t just stand there and say nothing! Any time now, students from other houses were going to notice, and it wouldn’t be long before he attracted the attention of the teacher’s table…

“Your detention…” he tried again, but the final blow _“…has been cancelled”,_ never stood a chance. In the middle of the sentence, he’d been dumbfounded by that pretty, tender mouth stretching into a stunning smile, and before Draco could collect his spilled marbles, Hugo got up, and carelessly threw half a piece of bread on the table without looking.

“Of course,” he said with a sweet smile. “You’d like a word before I join you?”

Standing up, he already had an inch or two on the blond, and Draco couldn’t remember Ron Weasley ever being so imposing. In spite of the ridiculous similarities, he could barely compare them. Ron Weasley always seemed happy to be considered Potter’s shadow, but Hugo… Hugo breathed and exhaled a priceless, quiet self-confidence that simply made Draco’s knees weak. Those magical blue eyes so close up were proving irresistible.

“Yes,” he heard himself say stiffly, and silently thanked all the saints that his voice wasn’t quivering. “I’d like to have a word.”

Oh, _godfuck_ , what was this misery?! But Draco hoped that at least the awkward situation made _some_ sense now to whomever was watching – and he hadn’t quite closed the door on cancelling Hugo’s detention just yet, had he? Perhaps he could still take this somewhere private and make it work?

“By all means,” Hugo said calmly. “Lead the way, Professor.”

Draco walked through the Great Hall as if in a trance, with Hugo on his trail, and couldn’t quite believe how it had all turned out this way. He’d come to dinner so determined, so… resolved – and somehow, in close proximity to Hugo it all melted like a block of ice in hell-fire. And now he didn’t even know where he was going… except that with Hugo’s warm breath on the back of his neck he needed to be somewhere private, fast – it was giving him… issues.

He couldn’t even contemplate going all the way down to his office in the dungeon; the redhead’s presence behind him was driving him spare, and he needed to do this – whatever disaster was going to happen – quickly, and be on his own again. If anyone were to tell him a couple of days ago that he’d turn randy as a teenager in the space of two days, he would have questioned their mental health – but then he’d succumbed to this… this blue-eyed Weasley _virus,_ and now he was as infected with raging hormones as they came!

He opened the nearest door, which creaked with age of disuse, and led into a small, dusty storage room, stuffed with all sorts of abandoned useless knick-knacks. After checking that it was indeed empty, Draco walked in with the sinking feeling that he was doing exactly what he’d vowed not to do. To buy himself some time, he deliberately headed towards the single narrow window with broken coloured glass panes to at least give the appearance of wishing to entertain himself with a view, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. He didn’t have to check if Hugo followed – he could feel that boy’s presence from five feet away. As soon as the door clicked behind him, the room seemed to shrink to the size of a matchbox.

He could once again feel Hugo’s even breathing on the back of his neck, making his hairs bristle and charging him beyond control. The boy must have approached him in his stealthy, agile, cat-like manner, and Draco was afraid to turn, afraid to give himself away, afraid to lose what little dignity he managed to keep. He crossed his arms against his chest stubbornly, hoping it made him look like a superior authority figure, but it was only to hide that his fingers were shaking. Perhaps he could do this without actually looking at the redheaded boy tempting him in a most godless way?

“Professor?” Hugo said quietly, but that warm, honeyed voice might as well have been made to ignite the fire that seemed to roll through Draco’s veins. The mind-melting scent of the teenage menace behind him was making him chew on his lower lip to keep from whimpering, and he couldn’t bloody think of what to say to get rid of him, because the truth was – he didn’t really want to get rid of him. He wanted to be pressed into the wall, feel that warm breath on his face, teasing his lips, sense those amazing eyes on him… oh… _ohbloodyhell_ , ohhhh…

“My son tells me you broke up with your boyfriend this morning,” Draco blurted out just to say something to cover up those disastrous, wanton sounds that the honey-trap of a boy nearly made him mewl.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” the redhead murmured, and the blond could almost feel him smile behind his back. God, how he longed to see it, to look into those breathtaking eyes and hungrily inhale everything the boy had to offer. But he’d never felt more weak in his life, and not looking at Hugo Weasley was pretty much the last line of defence he still had.

“I’m your Head of house. It’s my job to know if my students are… distressed,” he babbled on, not really know where he was going with it. “If you…”

Good god – this was his only chance to get out of this wretched time alone with Hugo, and Draco had to at least try – but his bloody throat was dry, and the words wouldn’t come.

“Your detention… if you wish to postpone…” he tried again, but he could barely hear his own breathless voice, and his heartbeat seemed to want to escape through his ears.

That. That was as much as Hugo would get. That was all he was capable of. The offer was out, he’d done his best… and as the moments of silence ticked away, he realised with horror that he found himself feverishly hoping that the unruly redhead would decline. Which was, of course, insane, impossible, and entirely counter-productive to his efforts... but he could hardly help his raging libido. Only his stubborn Malfoyian sense of decency was keeping him afloat, keeping him from retracting his offer. Any second now, the lovely blue-eyed imp would accept and end this unhealthy obsession – because Draco knew he couldn’t. Seriously, what 16-year-old menace would be crazy enough to say no to a free pass like this?

“Nah, I’m good,” Hugo said quietly behind him. “Michael is not someone I can’t live without. Best to have it over with, don’t you think? Professor Malfoy?”

Recognising how utterly stupid he must look having his back still turned towards the redhead, Draco collected all of his resolve just to turn around… and realised it was a mistake the second he did it. _Big mistake._ Hugo was standing so close, Draco could see himself in his eyes… and his every thought slowly withered away and died quietly. _Timeless_. The moments with Hugo Weasley standing near him, invading his personal space with his body warmth and his incredible scent, made the time stop. Draco could literally no longer tell what year it was. He could just stand still, observing his own awed face in those hypnotising eyes, absorbing that savage closeness, and trying very hard not to break the moment. He couldn’t imagine he would get another.

As if entranced, Hugo slowly lifted his hand and his fingers carefully rubbed against Draco’s cheek with heartbreaking tenderness that made the blond close his eyes for a long, delicious, torturous moment in order to savour it. The feeling of the boy’s fingers on Draco’s face was incredible. They were calloused, deliciously cool, and soothing against the blond’s flushed skin. They travelled across Draco’s cheek like a closing fan, with feather-like gentleness, and the impossibly arousing feeling made the blond moan quietly, distinctly. He was dying for more. _Please, more._ He nearly said that out loud.

“You had a smudge… of something on your cheek, Professor,” Hugo said quietly, and Draco opened his eyes to drown in those insane blue pools, only to have his eyes catch on the sight of the redhead’s thumb disappearing into that sinful, silken mouth, sucking gently. Draco’s breath now came in short, sharp gasps, and he was trying very hard not to start begging. And as if the redheaded demon could hear him, his face slowly swam closer, and that beautiful mouth was just a breath away from Draco’s skin.

“It was awful nice of you to offer, though… Professor,” those soft lips whispered, and the hot breath spread down Draco’s body like wildfire. The very proximity of the delicious, sweet heaven promised by the decadent mouth turned his nipples into rock-hard pebbles. He could not take any more, he would not…

“Thank you…” Hugo whispered, and a second later that lovely, tempting mouth pressed a soft, slow, inviting kiss into the corner of Draco’s mouth, “… but no, thank you.”

And the blond’s knees went soft on the spot.

“No…” Draco whispered frantically, desperately, because his whole body tensed like a bow, and his fingers slipped around Hugo’s wrists for support. He felt the tiny snakes slither under his fingertips when Hugo’s mouth moved away… only to have his lips brush against the other corner of his mouth in the same, agonising, heart-stopping way. Draco closed his eyes because there was only one way this was going to end, and he could no longer stop himself.

“I… respectfully decline,” the redhead breathed softly against his ear. “Why would I want to miss doing _anything_ with you?” he rubbed his face against Draco’s like a ginger kneazle looking for attention, and those long, silken auburn eyelashes brushed against Draco’s cheek, sending shivers down his spine. “I like it.”

“Yes,” Draco gasped, as his thick, swollen shaft pressed against the fabric of his tailored robes, like it wanted to meet its new deity. “Please… I…”

“Will you have me tonight, then?” that silken voice breathed against his cheek, and the blond saw spots behind his closed eyes.

“ _Godyes_ ,” Draco moaned when a hot surge of most dire need erupted from the very bottom of his tense balls, nearly shattering his restraint.

“Oh, good,” Hugo purred, and in the next moment his wrists slipped out of the blond’s grip with no effort whatsoever. Draco’s eyes popped open, and he released a sharp, frustrated growl, only to see the redhead make his way to the door.

“I’m going to change into something more suitable… for work… if that’s all right with you,” the redhead said quietly, resolutely, and when he reached for the doorknob, he finally turned towards the flabbergasted blond. And the expression on that mesmerising face, for once serious, made Draco’s cock pulse like he was about to shoot across the room. That hard focus, those savage eyes burning like a pair of wild blue flames, the way his tongue darted out slightly in order to moisten those beautiful supple lips – this was a serpent, magnificent, hungry, ready to strike, prepared to toy with its prey, determined to have its wicked way with it. And Draco was as helpless as any prey would be.  

“I won’t leave you waiting,” the redhead promised in that velvet voice of his that made the blond’s body tremble from unexpected withdrawal – and a flicker of a dark smile later, the boy was gone.

 _MerlinJesus_ … Draco’s heart was pounding like he’d just run a marathon. His cock was throbbing in his pants, once again solid, and he wanted to touch it so badly, he nearly saw dark spots. The boy was poison. Poison of the worst kind. Poison he needed to inhale, devour, and consume, even if he knew it would ruin him. He knew instinctively that he was willing to risk nearly anything to get his hands on Hugo Weasley, and the crude, invincible need he could not manipulate scared him to bits. What sorcery was the wretched, gorgeous boy made of that it made Draco’s self-control dissolve like smoke?

Draco had been keeping his decadent, unwanted desires at bay for nearly thirty years, never allowing himself to take off the reins… He married the right woman – whom he loved deeply and sincerely – he even fathered a son… He’d aged to a point when he should have lived, perhaps not ecstatic, but content with the way his life played out… And he _should most definitely not_ be stuck in a stuffy storage room, with his weeping cock about to burst, trying very hard not to think about the aphrodisiac scent of the 16-year-old boy who put him there. _Jesusfuck_ , what kind of a mad obsession was this!?

But he no longer had any illusions he could run from it. He could try… he could put some distance between himself and the redheaded angel that kept invading his thoughts and directing his every action – but at the bottom of his heart, he knew he was not this game’s master. It was not going to be his decision. The disheartening, mad fact was, he _wanted_ to yield… he wanted to yield too bloody much. He always had. Only now he’d found someone who recognised him for what he was… and, perhaps, was willing to have him?

Merlin’s hairy testicle, this was an awful, chilling thought. He had fallen for a 16-year-old boy – a Weasley boy, for fuck’s sake! – and he had fallen hard. But this was no ordinary 16-year-old boy, was it? This was an old soul, a proper redheaded, hot-tempered demon, residing in the tempting body of an angel made to destroy him, and Draco’s power to fight him was fading. He suddenly felt like a forgotten vessel, hollow with decades of loneliness, and now that there was some hope of someone bright and magical to fill up his emptiness and give him purpose on the horizon, he was all too eager. Was he really meant to have that?

He ought to fight for what he’d made of his life so far… _At least try to fight, dammit,_ he thought feverishly. The second he reached out for Hugo and let the boy own him, he would be ruined. _Everything_ would change. What would become of him? Where would he be headed after an act of such shameless self-indulgence? Would he even be able to stop once he left this wretched place, and was once more safely tucked away from the spell-binding boy that made his blood surge, his cock scream, and that hollow place in his chest ache? He didn’t know how to live like this, with all those… _desires_ , and _urges_ , and mad cravings finally acknowledged and screaming to be satisfied. And once they were out in the open - could he still live without them? He’d shackled his every impulse that was… improper, shameful, irrational – and to have those shackles shatter… The prospect of letting go of his precious, well-honed control scared him to bits. He should at least _try_ to postpone the inevitable – and maybe he’d eventually grow stronger, more able to say no to a pair of heavenly blue eyes that spell-bound him into thinking he needed all that.

He would start small. He would not touch himself again, regardless of how badly he needed it. Not here, anyway. This was a school, a public part of it, however abandoned and isolated, and it was just plain wrong. He would walk into a trap… into that bloody detention tonight with his head held high, and try his best to keep away from the venomous boy. He would not fall back into the circle of denial and empty promises once again. He had to at least try and fight off the blue-eyed monster crawling under his skin.

~


	6. Chapter 6

Draco made sure he was sitting behind his desk when the soft rap came this time. He had just enough time to transport all the equipment for cleaning the cauldrons to the farthest part of the room. The Weasley devil-spawn could sit there behind the wall of black cauldrons the blond had stacked up – and was damn proud of! – and clean away until his time was up. Draco was determined to tell the redhead in the end that he should consider his detention completed, however much – or little – he got done. He reckoned he should be fairly safe like this, sitting all the way across the room, with the boy kept fully occupied. Now, with a bit of good grace from the gods, this unfortunate episode in his life would be behind him in a couple of hours, and he would be careful never to paint himself into a corner like this again.

Only, when the door opened, he realised that the gods had truly abandoned him, and his plans had a major flaw: he’d made them without Hugo Weasley present. As soon as the devilish boy stepped in and closed the door behind him, the atmosphere changed. Hugo only looked across the classroom, straight at his face, wearing that small, sweet, dangerous smile, and Draco’s skin prickled to life, and something in his loins stirred, as if that killer lopsided grin had a direct connection to his cock. All of Draco’s feeble attempts he’d been so proud of a moment ago seemed in vain; the boy’d just entered and taken over with no effort whatsoever, like a true king.

“Good evening, Professor Malfoy,” the redhead said casually, but there was nothing calm or matter-of-fact in those feral blue eyes, and Draco had to try hard to keep his cool façade from shattering.

“Evening,” he murmured, but he doubted so much it would be a good one, he couldn’t even say it. He tried to keep his eyes from darting towards the tall figure that seemed to effortlessly draw all the light in the room onto him, but it was like his brain was blinded by the boy who magnified every single one of his most savage and unpredictable urges, and it simply ignored Draco’s commands. Before the blond knew it, he was staring.

Mother of god, why did the bloody Weasley demon child have to be so stunning? Those Muggle clothes… seriously. What blind, frigid idiot made those trousers… jeans… so low cut?! And the redhead hadn’t even bothered with that awful T-shirt this time; he’d simply put on a tailored royal blue shirt and done up a few buttons in the middle, but not enough to completely keep the translucent milky skin from shining through as if it was glowing under the fabric. Draco almost convinced himself it was all the stupid shirt’s fault. It was in stark contrast to that glittering red hair caught in a loose plait and reflecting the candlelight like molten red gold, but its deep sapphire colour also made Hugo’s majestic blue eyes seem positively radiant… and Draco swallowed quietly. Goddamn… pretty… Weasley… demon child. Couldn’t the bloody lot make ugly kids?!

But what really made Draco’s blood surge was the dark smile on the pretty face when the redhead pointedly turned his head slowly to look at the stack of cauldrons at the back of the classroom. Raising one eyebrow, the blue-eyed devil looked properly entertained at Draco’s attempt to lead the game. Without even bothering to come closer, he slowly looked back at the blond, and spoke softly:

“I reckon you took care of the closet yourself?”

“Yes… I… it was too dangerous to be left to a student,” Draco said stiffly. “I had the whole thing moved to my office, and I will continue to inspect it when I can find some time.”

“I see,” Hugo smiled. “If you’d like any help with that, let me know. I’ve been dealing with dangerous liquids since I was five – these don’t come from sitting in the corner playing Wizard’s Chess, you know,” he smirked as he casually opened the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up to expose faint scars.

“Yes… I…”

Draco suddenly found himself lost for words. _Oh, blast._ Those narrow, surprisingly elegant wrists with the swirling magical serpents were _without a doubt_ his major weak point. Without warning, he was ambushed by a memory of how they’d moved under his touch once he had closed his fingers around Hugo’s wrists, and his cock stirred so violently he had to bite the inside of his bottom lip to hold back a moan. He could not tear his eyes from the inked milky skin, and it wasn’t until Hugo’s voice woke him up that he realised how entranced he had become.

“Would you like me to clean that pile today, then?”

Draco forced his eyes back to the pretty freckled face watching him with a curious smile, and he couldn’t help thinking miserably how he’d just climbed out one trap, only to fall into another.

“Yes.” Apparently saying more than one word was beyond him.

“Brilliant,” Hugo smiled brightly. “I love a good challenge – and prepare to be introduced to the wonder of Muggle cleaning! I bet these cauldrons haven’t been cleaned properly since they were bought – cleaning with magic just doesn’t quite do it! Now, let me just bring the water… and given what it’s like this deep under the castle, I’m going to need some fire. Do you care to provide it, or shall I take care of it?” the freckled imp asked, casually grabbing the biggest cauldron and lifting it as if it didn’t weigh a bloody tonne.

Draco’s mouth went dry when he watched the tendons on those arms tense, and his imagination most unhelpfully provided an image of taut, beautiful muscles flexing under the tailored shirt. Suddenly this cleaning-the-cauldrons business didn’t seem like such a grand idea anymore.

“What on Merlin’s tilted earth do you need the fire for?” the blond choked out, trying to occupy his mouth with something remotely sensible before he inadvertently produced another one of those embarrassing sounds that seemed to slip out inconveniently every time Hugo Weasley was near.

“Well, to wash the cauldrons and cooking utensils with hot water, of course,” Hugo looked at him as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was serious. Then, he placed the cauldron under the faucet, turned it on full force, and as it began to fill, the redhead crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back onto the wall casually, like… oh, every bit like those unfortunates selling their charms in the Knockturn Alley! Where did the bloody boy learn that?!

“The water down here is tepid on a good day in the middle of summer – and we’re not quite there yet,” that redheaded sex-on-long-legs went on explaining, as if it even mattered. “Of course, you hardly ever noticed because you clean everything by magic, like most wizards do. And like most wizards, your idea of scrubbing and soaping probably doesn’t extend far beyond the things you do in the shower, I reckon,” the redhead said with a naughty mirth that made his eyes sparkle with brilliance, and Draco swallowed, discreetly – or at least he hoped he had.

And he did it again when Hugo tilted his head gently and gave him a suggestive once-over across the classroom, as if he was _thinking_ about Draco in the shower – and that sweet, dirty smile said he liked the thought. Oh, Salazar’s naked balls, that boy… that boy and his flirting, sexy smile…

“Well, to be fair, cleaning things – potions equipment in our case – isn’t really _that_ much different than washing yourself – though I have to say that it takes much more effort,” the redhead chuckled softly. “It’s an excellent way to keep fit, that’s for sure! The muscles in my arms, legs – even my abs! – get really good exercise, lifting and scrubbing and kneeling and whatnot, I can tell you that! I barely need the Muggle sport I practise to keep fit,” he smiled radiantly, nearly knocking the breath out of Draco with the disturbingly… _graphic_ images of Hugo’s muscles his own evil imagination provided.

“But the point is,” the redheaded menace continued with undiminished enthusiasm, “that wizards rarely realise what it takes to properly clean things the Muggle way because they hardly ever bother with it… especially if they’re from privileged families like yours where there is household help available,” Hugo shrugged, as if he was slightly sorry for Draco for being denied such an experience.

“But while you might do fine with cold water while showering if you’re a bit on the ascetic side – hot water along with some wicked cleaning agents that the Muggles invented, is indispensable in getting rid of the more stubborn stains and that thin layer of grease that is so hard to peel off with magic. Hot water alone won’t do anything for the rust, obviously – which, by the way, Muggles got rid of eons ago by using properly treated materials for kitchenware – but in combination with some nice cleaning concoction I got from Grandma Granger and some heavy-duty scrubbing, which I don’t mind putting in, I can guarantee you that hot water will go a long way to make your cauldrons – and whatever else you’ve put on that pile to clean – shinier than any magic could! Now – will you heat it up for me, or shall I… find a way?”

That killer smile couldn’t have been more brilliant or mischievous, and Draco realised with a bit of a shock that the redhead seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. So much for assigning demeaning detention as a valuable lesson… The way the boy spoke, the blond was beginning to feel that his fellow teachers just liked their school clean, because, clearly, Hugo wasn’t learning anything. Draco couldn’t help being… _fascinated_ with the way the Weasley devil spoke. All that fire and youthful enthusiasm… it was just oddly impressive, wasn’t it? The boy could sell a vault filled with snow to Eskimos! He couldn’t help being pulled in.

“Salazar’s forked beard, don’t even _think_ about doing it your way,” the blond murmured and got up. “Considering your reputation, I imagine it’s much safer for this honourable institution if I take care of it.”

It wasn’t until Draco approached the redhead – and the boy slowly turned his head to look at him with those captivating blue eyes, smiling innocently – that the blond realised he had just slipped and fallen rather spectacularly into an expertly-set trap. It was entirely too late to save himself, of course. It was too late the second he got up from that table. His lungs inhaled the rich, warm, golden fragrance of Hugo Weasley, the smell of freshly cleaned clothes and a citrus undertone from his soap, and he nearly forgot the incantation for the heating spell. His wand stopped somewhere halfway up, unsure how to continue, as his eyes caught on the precious reflection of that glittering red hair. Oh, god, why was he so weak?

“Don’t… don’t heat it up just yet,” Hugo put his fingers around the blond’s wand arm, and Draco nearly dropped the wand at the shocking warm touch. “I can’t clean properly in this dark corner, so I’m going to have to move the cauldron, and I don’t want to do it while the water is hot. Madam Pomfrey swore to retire if I showed up in the hospital wing one more time this week; she says I’m more work than ten students and she’s getting too old for this.”

“But…” the blond started, rather frantically, to tell the redhead that he should by all means _stay_ in the dark corner, far away from Draco’s greedy eyes and drooling mouth – just like he’d planned it, for hell’s sake! – but he never made it quite that far. His breath got stuck somewhere in his throat when Hugo Weasley began to slowly unbutton his shirt. _OhMerlinfuck_ … that translucent, creamy skin… miles of it… with the gentlest spray of golden constellations of freckles… and that taut, sculpted body that the blond couldn’t get out of his mind… _Fucked_. Draco was well and truly fucked, and he knew it.

He was distantly aware he was staring – and rather obviously drooling on top of that – but he couldn’t bloody stop.

“Wha –… What do you think you’re doing… again?” he finally managed to babble out, his voice about an octave higher than usual.

“Making sure I don’t get wet,” the redhead replied calmly, pulling the shirt off his shoulders and proceeding to toss it across one of the chairs haphazardly. Those long, strong arms were suddenly on display, and Draco noticed rather faintly that the boy wasn’t exaggerating about his fitness… no… not exaggerating at all. His shoulders were nearly square, with some serious muscle, and that… oh, _fuckhimright_!... that dragon-shaped nipple-ring was glittering softly in front of Draco’s eyes again, and his mouth quite literally watered at the sight. His fingers prickled with the memory of the scaly, metallic body sliding through them, and he probably had to thank the fact that he was rather breathless that he didn’t actually make any mortifying sound, testifying to how undone he had become.

“Want to help me move the cauldron, then?” the redhead asked softly, as if he knew how entranced Draco had turned, and was being careful not to break the spell.

Draco’s eyes travelled to the pretty freckled face as if looking for answers – and then he simply nodded obediently. _It was the sane thing to do,_ he tried telling himself with the last stubborn remains of his rational mind when he locked his fingers around the cauldron’s handle, but his sensibility was failing quickly, and he found out that he didn’t really mind. Hardly anything mattered when he was around Hugo.

Draco knew he could have moved the cauldron with magic without any effort whatsoever, but then he would have missed the symphony of watching those long, milky muscles tense, and move, and relax again – and he wasn’t willing to do that. _Ohyes_ … gods, yes! The way the boy moved was pure poetry, and the blond decided it was worth the effort as he did his part in moving the unexpectedly heavy cauldron. He couldn’t really remember the last time he got so… physical, but it felt strangely satisfying to stretch his muscles and feel his heart beat faster. Especially when he was rewarded with such a majestic view.

“There, done,” Hugo smiled at him, a bit breathless, with flushed cheeks and all too fucking sexy as they set a huge cauldron filled with water right across Draco’s desk in a clear testimony of another failure of the blond’s plans… But Draco couldn’t think about that – not, when his eyes kept roaming towards that flushed, rosy skin, thin sheen of sweat making that forbidden, delectable body reflect the candlelight like it was coated in a layer of light, and he found out he could not think, talk, or stop himself from yearning without hurting himself. So he only nodded, still quite a bit out of breath himself, and wordlessly placed a long-term warming charm on the water to keep it steamy. There. He had finished the job. And that was it. He would get no more. The bitterness of his disappointment came as a shock.

“Thank you,” the redhead said simply, as Draco, his wand still in the air, tried to come to terms with the fact that he was supposed to go back to his boring desk, stare at Hugo from afar, hopefully not too longingly, and try to keep his unruly cock – once again very much eager to be involved – squeezed between his legs, praying quietly that it didn’t make a bloody dent into the bottom of the desk.

“Would you like to try it?” Hugo asked unexpectedly, tilting his head in that beautiful, graceful gesture that clearly meant he was reading him.

Try – what?

“You know… cleaning the Muggle way,” the redhead smiled, knocking the breath out of him with the mad, eccentric offer.

“I’m quite sure I don’t – ” Draco started, but Hugo was already moving his arm in a dismissive gesture as if he was cancelling his offer, and spoke calmly, sounding just a bit dejected:

“Yeah… I didn’t really think you would. I keep forgetting that you’re an old-school pure-blood and you probably think all things Muggle are beneath you. Never mind me. I better get started or I won’t get anything done.”

Something suddenly seemed stuck in Draco’s throat and he struggled to swallow. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have the gorgeous boy thinking that he was beneath him, that Draco thought himself too good for him for the worst of reasons.

“If you’d only let me finish,” he said a bit stiffly. “I’m quite sure I don’t know the first thing about this Muggle cleaning business… but I trust you to teach me.”

The way Hugo’s eyes lit up left Draco seven kinds of dizzy.

“You do?” the redhead spoke softly, and something in his dark, smooth-as-chocolate voice made the blond’s skin prickle in quiet expectation. Somewhere in the back of his head, Draco realised that he was very likely being expertly played, but it somehow didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was that this was not quite over yet. He was a fool to think that it was. This wasn’t over until Hugo said it was over. And Draco learned that he loved following his invisible strings.

“Yes,” he choked out rather inelegantly. “I… don’t mind trying it once. It should make for an interesting experience.”

“Oh, yeah…” Hugo smiled beautifully, and his eyes sparkled with a challenging, provoking dare that made Draco’s nipples stiffen. “You’ve got me to make sure it’s exciting. Not a boring bone in my body,” he laughed softly, and Draco’s frustrated libido responded by releasing another violent surge of lust throughout his body. Merlin’s stiff cock, how he longed to touch the alluring boy…

And as if Hugo could read his mind, he moved in that quiet, sudden, cat-like manner and stopped right in front of Draco.

“If we’re going to do it the Muggle way, we’d best get you ready,” he murmured… and his fingers moved to the row of buttons on Draco’s overcoat. And the blond’s breath hitched to the skies.

“Wha – …”  he tried feebly, but the words died on his tongue when those incredibly blue pools looked into his face – masterful, controlling, unflinching, like the eyes of a snake-charmer – and Draco suddenly went very still. He recognised magic when he encountered it, but he didn’t recognise this. It was emanating from Hugo in waves that seemed so real they were nearly palpable… and it was majestic. It prickled against the blond’s skin, raising it into goosebumps and making him tremble with anticipation – but he dared not move a muscle. The moment was so intense, even the candle flames began to flicker.

“Shh…” the redhead whispered softly. “You helped me, you have to let me at least do this. Those tiny buttons can be so bothersome when one is not allowed to do magic, don’t you think?”

“I… yes…” The words were barely a breath from his mouth, and he couldn’t fathom how he had even managed that. His whole body seemed to be frozen in the moment, petrified like a statue on the outside with the blood surging madly underneath the surface, pressing against the confines of his body like a tidal wave and making him dizzy with the impossible tension buzzing in his ears. He could barely register his own breathing, and his cock was on the fast track to becoming solid between his legs. At least he wouldn’t be corrupting an innocent student. There was no doubt in his mind Hugo knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

“Oh, my…” Hugo chuckled merrily, his fingers sliding down the braces on Draco’s trousers with playful curiosity, as if the boy was entirely unaware how… _erotic_ such a motion was coming from him. “I haven’t seen those in a while. A bit traditional… but they go really well with your attire… and they sure show off a man’s form nicely… I must remember that,” he murmured, his blue eyes flickering to Draco’s face when he slowly pushed the braces off his shoulders. The warmth of his hands, stilling momentarily on Draco’s shoulders, burned against the blond’s skin even through his shirt, and the heat spread down his body like Fiendfyre. If only he could have more…

“There,” Hugo spoke softly. “The waistcoat now. It would be a shame to ruin such fancy clothes. All your clothes are so neat and crisp all the time. Just short of… _stiff_ ,” he smiled playfully, and worried his lip with those perfect white teeth. “A bit like you, really.”

“My clothes aren’t stiff,” Draco heard himself speak, and wondered where the words were coming from. It certainly wasn’t his brain – that one lay disconnected somewhere near the soles of Hugo’s feet, admiring the view. “And neither am I,” he added in a tight voice. At least he still sounded like himself.

Hugo just smiled beautifully, with the tip of his tongue provocatively brushing against the top row of those white teeth Draco desperately wanted somewhere on his body… scraping at the tender flesh of his lips… around his pebble-hard nipples… everywhere… anywhere.

“I just might have to ask you to prove it to me,” the redhead murmured as his fingers mercilessly pushed Draco’s waistcoat to the floor to join his overcoat, not really minding the expensive material anymore.

“Would you like to keep your shirt on?” the blue-eyed god asked next in that warm, subdued voice, and his hot breath seemed to prickle against Draco’s tender skin, barely shielded from the danger that was Hugo Weasley by the thin fabric of the blond’s shirt. “I’ll just roll up your cuffs if you do. But if not…”

“I… don’t really know… should I?” the blond heard his own tense voice speak barely above a whisper, as if it was coming from another planet. It was impossible to miss how choked his voice had become, reflecting just how insecure Draco was about taking the next step.

“It’s just a shirt, you know,” the redhead said sweetly, tilting his head in the world’s most tempting gesture, as if he understood just how difficult this was for the blond and was willing to offer a bit more persuasion. “It’s not like you’re taking your armour off,” he bit his bottom lip and smiled, his eyes sparkling like expensive wine, as if he knew very well this was just what Draco’s shirt felt like. “If you don’t mind getting such a fine shirt wet, you _could_ keep it on…”

“What would you do?” the blond blurted out, his voice sounding strangely strangled, as if Hugo’s answer was going to determine his fate.

“Oh, I would have taken it off immediately,” Hugo smiled, and the way his eyes glittered was purely feral. “I wanted to the first moment I saw you.”

“I…” Draco’s breath couldn’t come fast enough, and his knees seemed to be melting. “You shouldn’t… all right then…”

“Off?” the redhead asked softly. And the blond only nodded, feeling every bit as if he had doomed himself.

His breath shuddered audibly when Hugo’s long finger slowly pressed against the very top button of his shirt, and made the mother-of-pearl disc feel as if it was choking him. The warmth of the redhead’s finger radiated against the skin of his neck, over-sensitising it until it bristled, and then the long digit slowly slipped down the line of closed buttons, to the very last one, where Draco’s shirt disappeared into his trousers. The blond tried to not to think that those adept fingers hovered about an inch from his erect cock – _ohgod_ , he tried not to think that there was even an erect cock anywhere near a student! – but it was _hard_ when all of his other thoughts were very much concerned with how much he _wanted_ it noticed, acknowledged, touched… Merlin’s hairy testicles, he was so royally fucked.

“Just… I need to do this first… with your permission…” the redhead spoke quietly, his voice intense, and those bluest of blue eyes sank into Draco’s grey orbs, pulling him straight into the sapphire heaven, until the blond breathed a powerless _“all right”._ And in the next second Draco forgot how to breathe.

Hugo’s fingers slipped to the button of the blond’s trousers and undid the first one… and another, his fingers carefully moving around the very obvious bulge, leaving the last button untouched. The blond couldn’t draw a breath to save his life. Hugo’s touch had been so light, he barely felt the boy’s fingers move on top of the strained fabric, but there was heat radiating from the close proximity of those long, skilled digits, and even the hint of a touch had the power to leave Draco with an impossible yearning in its wake. Knowing how very _wrong_ all this was wasn’t helping… it wasn’t helping one bit. The unspoken depravity that led him to let Hugo undress him seemed to be the very poison he craved.

But he couldn’t stop a small whimper when those wonderful fingers slipped behind the edge of his trousers to untuck his shirt.

“There you go… nearly there,” Hugo smiled, but it was one of those hungry, intense smiles that made him look as if he was a hunter closing in on his prey. Those warm, strong fingers were back at the buttons of his shirt, slipping them through the holes one by one with such graceful dexterity that the blond didn’t even have to time to panic before his shirt was parted down the middle… and he was about to be very exposed in front of a 16-year-old student he was supposed to be punishing. _Ohdeargod_ … how did he let himself slip so spectacularly?! And how come he _loved_ it so bloody much?

Hugo’s hands closed around both sides of his neck for a brief moment, with his thumbs gently brushing against Draco’s collarbones in a circular motion, and when they slowly pushed the shirt over his shoulders, the blond was left wondering how much of this was even real and how much of it his perverted fantasy… and if the redheaded demon could actually see his heart pounding wildly against his chest. But the shirt wouldn’t slide off across the blond’s clenched fists… and he was afraid to open the palms of his hands, as if he would be letting go of more than just his unbearable tension.

“Oops,” Hugo said softly. “Looks like I forgot those.” And just like that he dropped on his knees in front of Draco, and closed his fingers around his wrist. “I won’t be a moment.”

 _Jesusfuck_ … The image of Hugo Weasley on his knees in front of him, with that pretty mouth just inches from his solid, leaking cock, fucked up something in Draco’s brain, and the loud shuddering breath he released was anything but discreet. With one of the cufflinks undone, Hugo’s big hand closed over Draco’s clenched fist, and the boy murmured: “Always so tense… you’re not about to lose anything, you know… just, perhaps, yourself. And _that_ … would be good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco blurted out when Hugo turned his attention to the other cufflink, and the blond didn’t bloody know _what_ to do with his freed hand, because the only thing that came to mind was to bury it into the silken fiery locks and introduce his pleading cock to that sinful, tempting mouth.

“That you should let go a little,” Hugo said quietly, darkly. “You shouldn’t try so hard. You’re incredibly handsome… in that cool, classical way almost no one knows how to carry anymore… but you just… you don’t seem to know how to live a little. And I’d love to see you try that for a change,” he said adamantly, and without a moment’s hesitation, his hands closed around Draco’s hips as he pulled himself up. Draco’s shirt slipped to the ground, and for a timeless moment, that warm, young body was pressed against his, skin to skin, the metallic dragon brushed against his nipple and swirled, and Hugo’s pretty face with those stunning eyes and that damning mouth was right in front of him. And Draco nearly saw black.

“Don’t…” the blond he heard himself whisper in a highly-flammable mixture of panic and excitement. “You shouldn’t talk to me like this. I’m… I’m your Professor, and…”

“And a very attractive man,” Hugo said quietly. “What? You don’t think I’ve noticed? Everyone’s noticed. You’re the talk of the school, Professor. Half of the students will be dreaming of you tonight – and not innocent dreams either.”

“Stop…” Draco breathed, and this time he recognised the familiar panic, that mixture of dread and desperate need not to be exposed. “You need to stop…” he tried to insert some stern attitude into his words, but it came out as begging, because he knew there would be no coming back from where they were headed.

“Would you have me lie, then?” Hugo said softly, an edge of danger in that dark, sultry voice. “Is that what’s keeping you wound up so tightly that you’re nearly ready to snap? Lying to yourself? About who you are… about what you want? Hiding behind your beautiful crisp shirt, and your stiff, starched clothes, and your polished life…”

Those brilliant blue eyes were invincible, irresistible, and completely merciless. Draco found himself drowning in them, his breathing shallow, quick, and dead excited. The mixture of arousal and fear was swirling around his body like a devastating tornado, and his cock, excruciatingly hard, was throbbing with monstrous pent-up tension. He could feel a damp spot forming at the front of his trousers where his strained shaft pressed against the fabric, and he knew he couldn’t win this.

“I’ve seen what lying to oneself can do,” Hugo spoke quietly, fiercely. “I’ve seen it with Dad and Uncle Harry, who wouldn’t acknowledge thirty years of the most desperate love anyone’s ever held for another human being… but they just went and both married the women they thought they should marry to keep each other and their love a secret. They can’t even call it a relationship… and it’s so much more than that. I don’t want that for myself, ever. I’d rather end myself than live a lie, be something I’m not. If it was my life at stake, I would tear it all to shreds – every pretence, every lie, every moment when you can’t be what you truly _are_ underneath all the rubbish,” he hissed angrily, those blue eyes ablaze and completely spellbinding.

Draco could barely hold back a hopeless moan, because _this_ … this untamed raw power, this unbreakable, uncompromising spirit… was his true poison. He felt his hands slip onto the redhead’s back, as if he was bracing himself for what was coming.

“You can’t imagine the difference between living a lie… and being yourself,” Hugo whispered, his anger suddenly gone and his eyes that clean, heart-stopping blue colour that made one think of the Heaven above. “It would be everything you ever dreamed of. You’d never be able to go back. And you only need to take that first step…”

Draco’s head was a complete mess of emotions and feelings he had no control over. Being so close to the redhead, to the boy’s sensual, gorgeous scent, and the presence of that wild essence that was all Hugo was messing with his brain, as if he had found himself under an overload of sensations he’d tried to deal with… and failed. He could still feel Hugo’s hands cradling his arse gently… He could still see his own image looking back at him from those blue eyes, for once serious, and as glossy as any mirror… the supple mouth was so close he could almost taste it, and the intoxicating rich scent of Hugo’s fiery hair… oh, yes. Yes, yes… a thousand times yes. He needed to touch and own the boy so badly he was trembling… just a little bit of that magical creature making his senses go haywire… just for a tiny, forbidden moment…

“Please,” Draco whispered helplessly… and the blue-eyed god obliged, as if he only ever needed to ask. The fiery head tilted gently to the side, and in the next moment, that tender mouth touched the blond’s lips lightly as a feather and seemed to set fire to his skin… Draco could no longer hold back a desperate whimper when those tender lips touched one corner of his mouth first… and then the other… God, it was beautiful… Hugo had done it before, and was doing it again now, like it was some unspoken ritual that made it their thing now. Those soft lips proceeded to tease and pry Draco’s trembling mouth open, the slow dance of temptation and seduction driving the blond absolutely spare with need, until he moaned decadently, and just gave in.

“See… like this… This isn’t so bad, is it?” the Weasley devil murmured against his lips, and the blond gasped when Hugo’s silken tongue slipped into his mouth… and the bloody floor unhinged and disappeared from under Draco’s feet. The blond closed his eyes because the world was spinning, and he could barely take it all in. _GodOhGod_ , what was this sorcery?! Was kissing really supposed to feel this way? Was it always like this… so _magical_ … so intense when someone let go? So sloppy… and dirty… and absolutely addictive? Was it just because the redheaded demon tasted of heaven and kissed him like he was born to drive him wild? Or was it he, Draco, who needed it so badly that it was tearing him apart, exposing his most decadent desires to a 16-year-old boy who had no idea what hell he had unleashed?

It came as a proper shock when Hugo slowly moved away, one of his hands still resting on Draco’s arse, and the other one gently running down his cheek in a caressing gesture… and the blond was ready to growl in frustration.

“And that was only a kiss,” the redhead whispered quietly, but there was no mistaking the quickened breath and that feral look in the blue eyes. “Imagine the rest.”

And just like that, he turned around and walked away with that quiet, cat-like stroll and headed towards the pile made of smaller cauldrons and cooking utensils, leaving Draco rooted to the spot, barely able to control the savage hailstorm of pent-up frustration and the unthinkable, savage urges that screamed to be recognised and pleased at long last. _What.the.fuck.just_ happened?!

Why did the Weasley devil leave him this way?! Draco had asked him to stop, yes… but that was _before_! Before this last… magical… mind-melting kiss! And the redhead couldn’t say he didn’t feel the magic... the impossible pull between them! Draco could see he was turned on, he could _see_ it, it was… oh, god… impossible to miss, even though he tried very hard not to look in that direction. Yet the blue-eyed wonder let him go. He must have known he could have whatever he asked of Draco, and then some. What was with the bloody hot-and-cold treatment?! Were _all_ Weasleys made to drive him mad?!

Hugo returned with a small cauldron filled with every last brewing utensil he could find, and he poured them all into the big cauldron filled with hot water. He then walked to that stupid, adorable bucket he had left behind the day before and placed it next to a cauldron. He took out a purplish liquid and poured some into the water, and the smell that instantly pervaded the classroom was that of lavender. But Draco couldn’t have cared less if the proper flowers with stems and petals had popped out of the bloody cauldron. Right now, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse about the Muggle technology; he was hard and bothered, and so fucking frustrated he could break something – he wanted some goddamned answers!

“Come,” Hugo called him calmly, standing by the cauldron with two sponges in his hands. “We’ve got work to do.”

The blond knew what he was trying to do… and at any other time, Draco would’ve been grateful. The redhead was giving him a chance to put it all behind them, to somehow make this evening normal and… ordinary –  but tonight, Draco couldn’t have that. He was too bloody unravelled. Clinging to the last remains of his civility and trying very hard not to start screaming, the blond walked to the other side of the cauldron to stay as far away as possible from Hugo and his bloody addictive scent that scrambled Draco’s brain completely... but really – it was to no avail. The steamy water made the scene seem strangely intimate, and when Draco looked into the blue eyes across the space between them, it just flew out of him:

“Why did you do this to me? Why are you toying with me?”

But Hugo dropped the sponges into water, as if he knew he wasn’t going to need them anymore, and just looked at him with strange angry sadness in his eyes:

“Because I refuse to be something you regret.”

“I…” Draco started, but he couldn’t find words. The damn boy was right, of course. He would regret it the next morning. He’d already made plans to never let himself fall so far from his own strict standards of right and wrong. But then he came near the redheaded devil who melted all of his defences so irreversibly, and Draco forgot about regret and no longer cared for right or wrong. The beautiful boy, bold and brave, made him desperately want to feel what it meant to give in, to sink into the unknown depths of himself and finally have a taste of the sweet sin that had haunted him for decades. He would have gone all the way with Hugo Weasley… but that didn’t make it right.

“You’re sixteen… how could I not regret it?” the blond asked quietly. “I shouldn’t even come near you. You’re my student, a child… your father would skin me alive if he ever found out I’d laid a finger on you… and I can’t say that I would blame him. I shouldn’t want this. It isn’t _right_.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Hugo said softly. “And keep looking for what is right. Send me a note when you find it. I’d really like to see the person who could make you happy.”

“This isn’t fair,” Draco hissed. “I was married once. I _was_ happy. I loved her.”

“I’m sure your wife was a fine woman… but I recognised that starved, hungry look in your eyes the first day I saw you,” Hugo said quietly, dangerously. “I can spot a man who wants another man – and nothing but another man – from a mile away. I can _smell_ him. Could your wife make you feel like this?”

He moved so fast that it left Draco breathless, and before the stunned blond could recover his wits, that tall, muscled body was upon him, those warm large hands cupping his face, the fierce eyes burning with a blue flame an inch from his face, and the wanton, sweet mouth found him… _god, fucking god, yes,_ it found him… With his world shattering around him, the blond sank his fingers into that gorgeous mane of glossy, fiery hair and opened himself up to his invader. That majestic, delectable tongue met his own halfway, and at the first touch, he heard his own desperate yelp, but he couldn’t stop it to save his life. It was the sound of letting go, thirty years in the making, and he never knew something so needy, unabashed and savage even existed.

And Hugo just chuckled darkly, caught the blond’s lower lip with his teeth and bit hard, just short of drawing blood, and crushed Draco’s wanton moan with more of that silken, invasive tongue that stole what was left of the blond’s breath and his resistance.

“Would _any_ woman do that?” the redheaded devil whispered into their kiss quietly, those feral white teeth and that damning tongue proving his point better than any argument could. “Could she? Could she make you feel like you’re going to burn from the inside out with this fucking _need_ to be owned? Like you’re going to fucking _die_ if you don’t get some… hard… and fast… and dirty, just the way men like it… None of that hours of foreplay nonsense… fancy dinners… dressed to impress… Why? When I can tear your clothes off and impress _the shit_ out of you with what I am… and not with what I’ve got. Without a fucking knut to spare, too. No one can own you like a man can… Professor.”

Those words positively _fried_ what was left of Draco’s brain, and he merely whimpered helplessly. The way Hugo’s hot, delicious tongue painted the roof of his mouth felt like hellfire was suddenly released down the blond’s body, and his unabashed moans had turned into a desperate, primal wail. His hazy, spellbound mind wondered if the boy had some kind of magic to make his words come to life, because it felt every bit as if he was being consumed by the heat of a lust so savage that it had left him without a single sane thought to spare. He wanted to _fuck_ … and just thinking of the word, raw and undisguised, made him shiver with want. He couldn’t even imagine not going through with it – not getting a release was no longer an option. If Hugo had tried to leave now, he would have knocked him to the ground and made him pay.

“Oh, yes… like this, Professor… see how good you are at this? You’re a natural,” Hugo purred into his ear as his mouth moved to the blond’s neck and he sucked in greedily, not caring about the devastation of bite marks and hickeys his angry mouth was leaving behind. “You love the force behind this, don’t you? You love being overpowered, being forced to take it… You love feeling like damaged goods, knowing that someone wanted you so fucking much he was willing to hurt you just to have you… You’re going to spend long minutes tomorrow covering this up… and you’re going to get hot and bothered just thinking of the things I did to you… And you’re going to come to class, knowing that I’ll be watching…. imagining you like this… that I’ll be hard sitting at my desk, thinking of you… Will you be hard under your desk for me? Will your cock leak all over those fancy clothes of yours while you’re thinking of me… Professor?”

“Shut up… _Jesusgod_ , shut up…” Draco whispered frantically because the filthy, scary, yet incredibly arousing mental image nearly made it happen, it nearly made him shoot his load.  “You’re fucking insane that’s what you are… Merlin, you’re mad, hasn’t anyone told you? The best kind of mad…”

“Oh, that’s nothing… you haven’t seen a fraction of me… or my madness yet… and until you come and ask for it nicely… you can only have a little taste,” the redhead whispered and sank down onto his knees in front of Draco. Oh, Merlin’s balls… it was happening… it was really going to happen…

Tall as he was, Hugo’s fiery head reached up to Draco’s chest, and on a whim, the blond got rid of the clasp holding Hugo’s messy plait together, and released that enchanting silken hair. When Hugo looked up with the flaming river of glossy hair running down his back, with that smiling, tempting mouth bearing the marks of their rough kissing, and with the candlelight flickering in those sapphire eyes like the devil’s flame, the beautiful boy took Draco’s breath away. He found it incomprehensible that someone so extraordinary was his for the taking.

“No regrets, yeah?” Hugo said quietly, fiercely. “Not tonight.”

And with a lump in his throat, Draco nodded. “No regrets,” he breathed out, and a second later:

“You’re lovely…”

Hugo smiled, just for him, and Draco whispered, only half aware of what he was saying. “So beautiful…”

His words ended with a sweet moan and a shocked yelp when Hugo’s cheek rubbed against his chest like a giant ginger kneazle looking for attention, and then his teeth unexpectedly snapped around one erect, rosy peak, and his fingers squeezed around the other one with little mercy. _Ohgodfuckingdammit_ … Who knew Draco’s nipples had a direct link to his cock? And how did he even have all those filthy, sex-charged sounds in him? Salazar’s legendary rod _,_ he seemed to have no control left over his mouth… he had turned bloody shameless! His whispered, filthy words urged the redhead to go on, to play rough, to let his mean mouth, sharp white teeth, and gorgeous soothing tongue abuse him until his balls were tense as rocks and he was at the brink of coming. And Hugo knew just when to quit.

He let those hard pebbles out of his mouth, and breathless, whimpering Draco could see that they were no longer rosy, but dark red, marked by Hugo’s attention, and the sight them turned him on like a bitch in heat. He could no longer lie to himself – he _loved_ this. He loved everything about it. The straightforward aggression. The mad urgency that made one forget about decency and consequences and just give into their most primal urges. The sloppy, filthy, rough manhandling that was the stuff of his most desperate wanks, when all his self-control failed and he gave in to his forbidden fantasies, always involving men… and men only.

But _this_ … he couldn’t even imagine this. He’d never come close enough, he’d only looked from afar. Looked, and yearned. And envied, yes… Like Potter and Weasley. He realised he must have known about them all the time, it just… fit the way they were around each other. He just didn’t think they’d have the guts to do anything about it. But apparently he was wrong. Being around the one person you were head over heels about and couldn’t touch was bound to make one of them snap. Draco wondered which one of them had caved, which one of them had first started it… and if they’d got to the stage where they were so desperate and mad about each other that it _had to_ happen… as desperate and mad as he was right now about the gorgeous boy on his knees in front of him.

Because Hugo had introduced him to a special kind of madness. The blond was risking a lifetime of complacency to lose himself in the beautiful, wild boy, but he knew there was no other way. There was no halfway in Hugo’s world. You either wanted it hard enough to beg for it, or you could get the fuck out. The boy was clear about that. And Draco knew his choice, at least for this one night. He’d been holding himself back long enough.

He sank his fingers into the fiery hair of the Weasley boy kneeling in front of him and didn’t care one bit that this was his student, or how fucking wrong all this was.

“More,” he demanded in a breathless, needy voice he barely recognised. “I want more… Please… You need to give me more.”

And Hugo sat back on the heels of his feet and tilted his head up to look him in the eye. The slow, dark smile he gave the blond, made him look every bit like the devil he was:

“Just a little bit more,” the redhead said quietly, the blue fire in his eyes in testifying to what a beast Draco was dealing with.  “Just for you.”

That pretty head rubbed against the tense bulge in Draco’s trousers slowly as the boy rolled it on top of his erection, and it made the blond hiss and nearly choke on a desperate _“fuck”_ he tried _not_ to say.

“Professor… such rough words…” Hugo chuckled softly, and in the next moment he mouthed the tent in Draco’s trousers, making him forget to take a breath. “And from _such_ a gorgeous man…” the redhead murmured. “Just look at you… you’re a sight to behold… so ready… so fucking solid… You must be desperate to go so far with a student…”

“ _You_ … are no ordinary student,” the blond hissed, and pulled harder on that silken hair to have some semblance of control over the wild creature ruling over him even on his knees before him. “You’re a proper redheaded devil, sent to ruin me.”

“Too right I am,” Hugo smiled sweetly, and looked straight up into his eyes. “And I’m about to ruin you for everyone else.”

Even as he spoke, those adept fingers undid the last button on Draco’s trousers and slowly, carefully, pulled them over Draco’s hips and the curve of his arse, as if Hugo Weasley enjoyed unwrapping his present slowly.

“Oh, Jesus, this looks delicious,” he murmured as that beautiful luscious mouth closed around the absurdly tented fabric of Draco’s pants, and just sucked gently all over it, making the blond release a desperate string of incoherent whispered expletives. “So tense… so uptight… Who’d ever know that an elegant man like yourself could have such a hard, angry, stiff rod between your legs? It seems _perfect_ for punishing bad students… and I’m as bad as they come. Would you let me look at it… show me what I’ve got to look forward to? Pretty please, Professor…”

“Yes… take it… fuck, please… just…” Draco barely noticed he was babbling incoherently, but the redheaded devil and his dirty mouth have pushed him to the edge, and now he was seconds from thrusting his cock into that pretty mouth and just _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ fucking it for all he was worth, like he’d never imagined he’d be allowed to – how could anyone blame him if words had failed him?

“With your permission, Professor…” Hugo whispered, his magical eyes glittering hungrily, and when his fingers dug behind the edge of Draco’s tight pants and rolled them down his hips, the blond couldn’t hold back a tense little whimper of need. Finally, Draco’s cock was free; purple and angry-looking, it was jutting forward proudly, and it just happened to be a breath away from the most beautiful, decadent mouth on the planet. The way Hugo looked at it, worrying his lower lip – and then looked Draco in the eye with that predatory smile – made Draco’s cock throb as if it was about to blow its load.

“Please,” the blond whispered, not even hating how helpless and desperate he sounded. It was all part of the game. He was willing to beg for it.

“Please… what?” the demon Weasley boy said darkly, not giving up one inch of breathing space to Draco.

“Please, give it to me,” the blond whimpered, his voice shaky and barely audible. That sweet, warm breath teased his leaking cock and he was not… coherent. “I want it… I want it so badly.”

“Am I to punish myself, Professor?” the redheaded devil looked up once more, those glowing blue eyes tempting and innocent at the same time. “Tell me what you want me to do… and I’ll have to.”

 _Jesusfuck_ … so here they were… Hugo wanted him to say it… to open his mouth and speak it out loud, so Draco could never again pretend he didn’t want this… It set up a fire of panic and lust in the blond so intense, the room was nearly spinning when he finally blurted out the words:

“Suck me…”

Hugo exhaled as if he couldn’t quite believe Draco actually said it, but once that glorious, sexy smile swam onto his face again, the blond realised he didn’t really mind losing to a boy this beautiful and wild.

“Suck my cock…” he whispered, because the he needed it, he’d earned it… and Hugo was as good as his word.

“Oh, god, yes...” the redhead murmured as the pretty fiery head leaned forward, licked the length of his cock obscenely, and placed a delicious, welcoming kiss on the tip of Draco’s shaft for good measure, making him moan and shudder.

“I’ve been waiting fucking hours for that… I would have gone down on you yesterday in class if you’d asked it of me… I could feel your eyes on me _all the time_ … and I loved it…” the redhead purred and closed his eyes as if he was about utterly enjoy himself. In the next moment, Hugo’s warm mouth opened just enough to swallow the purple, leaking tip of Draco’s shaft, and that divine tongue began toying with it.

“ _OhGodfuck_ help me,” the blond blurted out feverishly, his silver eyes huge and starved for more. Not only did the feeling of the slick tongue slowly lapping at the pearly liquid leaking out of his sensitive slit made a believer out of him, he also couldn’t get enough of the sight of Hugo Weasley on his knees smearing Draco’s juices all over his pretty, luscious mouth reverently, until it was as glossy as delicious strawberries covered in ice – and the mad boy smiled.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, with his eyes still closed. “You need to know how you taste.”

And for Draco, it couldn’t happen fast enough. He had been _craving_ that gorgeous, tempting mouth from the first moment he saw it up close, and a chance to taste himself on it... He leaned down and captured the tender, damaged lips, and the decadent taste of them sent a hot, violent spark of the worst carnal need for release to the very bottom of his tense balls.

“More,” he gasped, because he knew he had one chance at this, and he would have it all.

And Hugo opened his mesmerising sapphire eyes, smiled like an angel, and whispered quietly, with fire in his dark, sultry voice:

“I love you like this.”

Draco had no idea if the desperate yelp that came out of his mouth was caused by Hugo’s words… one particular word… or by the sight of Hugo Weasley opening that decadent mouth fully, swallowing him whole, and descending onto his cock like a hungry vulture, time and time again, letting Draco slam his cock into as hard as he liked… with every scream… no reservations… no holding back. And the blond nearly lost it at the direct shot of raw pleasure that went through his body like a lightning bolt. He barely recognised the primal noises that came with it as his own. They were not just the sounds of pleasure, overwhelming and extreme... but also that of acceptance that _this_ was who he was, what he wanted, what he would never again be able to live without. Hugo Weasley had introduced him to a taste of heaven, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d never again stop looking for it. This … was not his last time. And the thought was so scary and exhilarating at once that it set his blood on fire.

The blond buried his fingers in the glossy flaming hair with force and got a gorgeous moan in reply, letting him know that Hugo Weasley enjoyed the tiny demonstration of his spirit. Draco’s bursting shaft was buried to the root in the hot heaven of that slick, silken mouth, and that expert tongue tormented all his sensitive spots... so many of them… making him gasp and beg for more. The exposed head of Draco’s cock was slamming into the back of Hugo’s mouth again and again, making the blond release an uncontrollable stream of unimaginable filth and pleas he could never imagine himself say. This was letting go at its finest, and he thought this was it – he would die of the unbearable tension mounting at the pit of his balls; just fucking drop dead in his pursuit of pleasure, because it couldn’t bloody get any better.

But then, he spotted Hugo’s hand slipping to his own crotch, and Draco’s breath hitched in his throat, and the blood began buzzing in his ears. The mad boy wouldn’t… he wasn’t going to… ohhhh, _JesusMerlin_. That glorious mouth  was still working the blond’s pulsing shaft when the beautiful redhead opened those tight, bulging jeans, and… _ohgodhelphim_ … released the most gorgeous purple beast of a cock into his own hand. It was the stuff of Draco’s wildest dreams, long, heavy and just bloody scary with that dark, angry head glistening with pre-come.

The blond forgot how to breathe. He’d never ever seen someone else’s cock quite that close up  but he doubted many could compare with the gorgeous… breathtaking… intimidating monster Hugo was packing. And it was Draco who made it so… aroused, so… majestic. He made it hard, throbbing, and angry, glistening with that beautiful crown of slick pearls decorating the tip… he made it so. Hugo was hard for him… so hard he could no longer hold it. The redhead’s big manly fist closed around that magnificent beast, and those narrow hips plunged forward, sending the fat cock through the narrow channel of Hugo’s fist, and Hugo moaned at the same time that Draco cried out, the combination of vibration and arousal pushing him right to the edge of coming.

Draco’s breathing went into that laboured state telling him he soon wouldn’t be able to take much more, and the world seemed to blur at the edges.

“Show me… oh, please don’t stop… god, you’re beautiful… yes, like that… fuck your fist… fuck it… god… Merlin… yes…  Hugo… yes… ohhh… _ohgodfuckHugo_ … ohhh….”

He came like a fucking freight train. His orgasm hit him so hard, so forcefully, his knees went soft on the spot, and he saw nothing for a while. His world seemed to exist as a buzz in his ears, and a glorious feeling of utter bliss spreading all around his body, making him feel giddy and ridiculously happy. It took him a while to come to his senses and realise he was still standing, though leaning heavily onto someone… oh, for god’s sake, the Weasley boy… and there was an arm, Hugo’s arm, tightly locked around Draco’s waist, keeping him up. Oh, Merlin’s heavy balls, what an embarrassment he had made of himself!

Only when his breathing had calmed down to a point that it no longer sounded as if he’d tried to run across the whole of England in half an hour did he dare open his eyes to find his world still strangely soft around the edges and unfocused. But a second later, his breath hitched again, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head at a heart-stopping sight: Hugo Weasley was still kneeling by his feet with the side of his fiery head pressed into Draco’s body… and licking come from his fingers like a child would a melted ice cream, only… oh, god… so much more obscenely, once again wearing that dreamy, naughty smile and no bloody shame whatsoever. And the decadent scene made something stir violently at the bottom of Draco’s balls, hard enough to make him whimper. That bloody debauched boy… he would be the death of him.

When Hugo noticed his open-mouthed staring, he locked his hands around the blond’s narrow hips and pulled himself up just like he’d done before. He smiled ferally, and his wet finger brushed against Draco’s swollen, sensitive lips.

“Here… for you,” he kissed Draco without bothering to ask permission, because Weasley brute that he was, he simply knew it was all his for the taking. “Your last present. A little taste of me in your mouth.”

The blond whimpered as if someone pressed a magic button of arousal inside of him. Merlin, he shouldn’t have possibly been able to… but he felt himself growing hard again. God, but the boy tasted divine… bittersweet… and just bloody exotic… Like his unique scent, Hugo Weasley also tasted like a wanking daydream come true. Draco mewled and opened his lips greedily, because he wanted to have it all, and the way that skilled, slick tongue slipped into his mouth and filled it, the redhead might as well have licked directly at his balls. Before he could help himself, Draco was back to moaning like a bitch in heat, and his legs didn’t feel too steady anymore. What kind of a dark sorcery was it that it allowed the Weasley devil to kiss the soul out of him?

“You could have this… and more… every bloody evening… you beautiful blond prick…” Hugo whispered into his mouth, before pulling himself away forcefully, and making Draco hiss with dizzying disappointment.

“God, you’re addictive,” the redhead murmured, as if to himself. “But I can’t force you to take it if you don’t want it. However… should you change your mind, Professor…” – Hugo’s blue eyes bore into Draco’s silver ones, and that long arm stretched across the distance between them, making the serpents around his wrists swirl as the strong fingers caressed Draco’s cheek gently – “… you know where to find me… for two more months.”

Two months… the reality hit Draco like a shovel to the head, and his heart squeezed viciously in his chest as he watched the tall boy walk to the door at a steady pace, as if he was leaving for good. Two months was all he had. And then it would be back to that empty stone tomb he called home… and he would never see Hugo again. The thought was… unbearable.

“Mr. Weasley,” he called out after him, and the boy stopped and turned his pretty head towards him. “Your presence is requested here again tomorrow evening. You’ve done… very little of what you were here to do. I would have you try harder… tomorrow evening.”

The redhead smiled beautifully, and perhaps a bit sadly, and said quietly:

“I’ll be here. As your student if you won’t have more.”

As soon as the door clicked behind the alluring boy, Draco felt like calling him back. The world only appeared to hold half its colours without him, and the silent, hollow emptiness of Draco’s life seemed eerie. He walked to his chair slowly, purely by habit, and sat down stiffly, the way his mother had taught him since he was five. For a while, he just stared into the empty space in front of him, but then he caught his face in the palms of his hands and let all the despair out in one long exhale. What the hell was he doing? What in Merlin’s name was happening to him?

~


	7. Chapter 7

Walking towards the Potions classroom, Draco turned the corner… and he froze as if rooted to the ground. He had found what he’d been looking for the entire morning: Hugo. The one thing on his mind he just couldn’t let go. The redhead was there, leaning with his back against the wall in front of the Potions classroom, but he wasn’t alone. A broad-shouldered, athletic-looking Gryffindor with jet-black hair and an enthusiastic smile who looked vaguely familiar was standing way too close in the redhead’s personal space, and Hugo seemed to be listening intently to his animated chatter and nervous laughter. Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest violently at the sight, but then the raven-haired boy raised his hand and fixed a loose strand of glossy red hair behind Hugo’s ear, and the redhead smiled at him in that beautiful, tempting way – and Draco’s insides simply erupted in white-hot jealousy. That… couldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t stand for this.

He’d had a terrible night. He’d sat in the Potions room for nearly an hour after Hugo left, too scrambled by thoughts of the redheaded boy, to leave. He’d found himself thinking about his poor life choices and his limited options, and just... missing the redheaded devil. Everything had seemed so easy when Hugo was around. Even when the blond had forced himself to get up, so his bones – no longer those of a teenager – wouldn’t feel broken in the morning, he’d found himself stopping by door, deeply inhaling the night air of the abandoned classroom, thick with the smell of candles, as if he’d been hoping for some trace of Hugo’s scent to linger on, something that he could perhaps take with him.

And then his eyes had spotted the forgotten blue shirt on the back of the chair, and his heart had soared. He’d snatched the damn thing without thinking twice. He’d hidden it and had nearly floated on air with it to his quarters. In his mind it was a gift; from Hugo or from the Universe, he didn’t know. Perhaps it wasn’t beyond the sensual redhead to leave him a reminder of their time together – or maybe the hot-blooded boy had simply left it behind. Either way, Draco couldn’t care less. It was his now; a little keepsake he could cling to, and perhaps find some solace during those empty nights when he would need it most.

He stripped naked before putting it on and took a moment to admire himself in the spotted old mirror. His eyes were alight, and his mouth looked decadently swollen and just… sensual. Even his cock seemed bigger somehow, as if the bloody thing had grown in size with pride at finally being used properly. But then the blond put Hugo’s shirt on, and as soon as the silken fabric wrapped around his body, the delicious, familiar scent flooded his senses, and he mewled quietly. This had to be his favourite piece of clothing. It was soft and glossy, and the rich colour reminded Draco of Hugo’s eyes. Though it was loose around Draco’s shoulders and quite a bit too long, it still smelled wonderfully of Hugo, and in his mind’s eye he could almost see the redhead smiling at him.

Draco climbed into his bed and tried to fall asleep, but Hugo’s scent was on him, and it felt as if a bit of his golden magic transferred to the luxurious fabric. Before long, he was once again so hard his balls were aching, and he ended up wanking to the memory of glossy red hair slipping through his fingers, of those blue eyes alight with passion, of the heavy, bursting cock throbbing in his big hand, and of the way the luscious, kissable mouth whispered: _“I love you like this.”_

He came all over himself with a barely silenced yelp, and as he lay in his messy bed, panting and covered in his come, he realised how bad he had it for the gorgeous blue-eyed devil… God, he had it bad! It was all so damn… complicated. He was an adult, a middle-aged man, a teacher, a widower with a teenage son, and he had fallen under the spell of a 16-year-old boy, younger even than his own son, a student, and a devil in human form. And the teenagers, sleeping soundly in the castle around him thought their lives were screwed up! What he wouldn’t give to be one of them again, with nothing worse to worry about except his exam results, and with all the wonderful choices that lay open to a man-child that had barely had a taste of life!

He tried so hard to do the right thing, and he honestly believed his sorry attempts to distance himself from the walking-living-breathing temptation that was Hugo Weasley were the right way to go – even though, uhm, they didn’t actually end up going the way they were meant to go, no… But then why did it feel so _right_ when the damn boy closed his arms around him and looked at him with fire in those spellbinding blue eyes he could see himself in? And why did he feel bloody fireworks go off in his head when they kissed? Was he really right to say no to all that, and steer his life onto a calmer, more predictable route, away from the chaos and scary, boundless freedom that was Hugo Weasley? Could he at least have a taste, and then go back to his old, boring ways?

His head was so bloody scrambled that even when he managed to fall into a short, restless sleep, he only dreamed of serpents slithering from Hugo’s wrists onto his own and binding them together, with the tempting words _“… you know where to find me…”_ echoing in the background, and that sad last look and the quiet voice whispering _“… if you won’t have more.”_

He woke up feeling like someone had beaten him up with a thousand sticks, but his first thought was that he had a class with Hugo after the breakfast. He would see his redheaded devil again, and the thought scared him and made him giddy with excitement at the same time. He cursed his limited choice of wardrobe – he really didn’t think to bring more clothes, as the professors were supposed to look professional, if not plain and boring. He didn’t even know why he cared – it wasn’t like the freckled imp would notice if he put on a grey striped waistcoat or an emerald one. But somehow the very notion that he was going to meet Hugo prompted him to try and look his best. Which was a feat when one had about a hundred hickeys and love-bites to conceal. He thought of Hugo’s words, _“You’re going to spend long minutes tomorrow covering this up...”,_ and shame and arousal flooded him at the same time. God, that boy… But he couldn’t lie to himself any longer: he was dying to see him again, as scary and unpredictable the outcome of such a meeting could be.

He walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, and though he made a point of barely acknowledging the Slytherin table with a nod, he immediately noticed that Hugo was missing, and his day instantly turned a shade duller. He hadn’t fallen ill, had he? The night air in the Scottish Highlands was properly chilly, and the boy had walked through the castle with no shirt on. Perhaps he had got into another fight? He’d have to find Scorpius and ask. His mood, foul to begin with, had grown more agitated by the moment. He _needed_ to see his blue-eyed temptation, find out if he was all right, rest his eyes a little on the forbidden, handsome face.

Once again, he had walked the corridors, spying on all sides to catch a glimpse of him – though for entirely different reasons than the day before – and now that he had found him, the redheaded demon made his blood boil within seconds. Once again, for all the wrong reasons. Draco barged straight for them like the Hogwarts express, not even thinking why was he so upset. If he could have got away with crashing into the good-looking, dark-haired boy, he would have.

“Weasley!” he barked. “And you! What is your name?”

“Charlie Wood, Professor,” the boy said, suddenly straightened up and looking slightly alarmed.

“You will stop chatting to Weasley here this minute!” Draco barked, his anger barely contained. He felt like hexing the pretty Gryffindor bastard – and it didn’t help that the dark-haired boy nearly hid from his anger behind Hugo. “Stop messing about and get yourselves in the classroom. I won’t have any slacking off on my watch!”

“But we were doing nothing wrong!” the boy – Charlie – started, sounding exasperated. Looking at the attractive face with big chocolate-coloured eyes, Draco finally recognised whose son he was – Wood, of course, Oliver Wood’s son, the son of that Gryffindor bastard with an arse to die for, who went on to become a Quidditch superstar. That, of course, did absolutely nothing to tone down his wrath.

“Honestly, Professor! I was just asking Hugo here…”

“You mean, you were _courting_ him!” Draco cut him short with a hiss, too livid to bother with being fair. “Every time Weasley opens his mouth he’s walking away with another trophy, and it always ends up in disaster… and injury!” he barked, completely unaware he was nearly shouting.

The handsome Gryffindor – Wood – dared to put his greedy, calloused hand on _his_ boy, _his_ trophy, _his_ Weasley – _his_ goddamn prize!!! By the wrathful gods, he was lucky to still have a hand! Was he stupid or what?! No one took what was his _– no one_!

“Come, Charlie,” Hugo said calmly, but his eyes sparkled dangerously… before he took the Gryffindor’s hand, and Draco saw red. “It seems we’ve stepped on professor’s highly treasured sense of morality. I reckon he means well. He thinks he’s saving you from heartbreak – and I’m sure he’s an expert in that field.”

And the redhead turned away without even looking at Draco and headed towards the classroom, still holding the Gryffindor’s hand, while the dark-haired boy, suddenly glowing, chattered on happily: “But we didn’t _do_ anything! I just asked you if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me, and he couldn’t have caught that… And even if he did – it’s not like that’s wrong, you know… So, uhm, will you? Will you go with me?”

Draco never found out the answer as the boys disappeared into the classroom, and he just stood there, glued to the ground, unable to breathe or move because everything hurt. He was feeling hot and cold at the same time, and the echo of his son’s words came back to haunt him: _Hugo never cheats._ And Hugo seemed to be already moving on, leaving him behind and forgotten. He must have thought they never stood a chance. And Draco realised… he couldn’t stand that. _He couldn’t stand it._ He had to get Hugo back. The boy was… he was _his_ , all right? Draco’s! His Weasley! He couldn’t just stand there and watch some _boy_ snatch him from under his nose. He had to do something. He had to think… He was good at thinking. Not in his top form lately, no, but still better than some dumb, good-for-nothing, empty-brained Gryffindor.

He finally moved and walked into the classroom, barely aware of where he was headed and what was he supposed to do. He turned around to face the class once he reached his desk and saw Hugo sitting in his old place, right opposite his desk at the very back of the room. Much to his relief, the blond noticed that the annoying Michael character was still sitting on the bench nearest to the redhead, looking a bit worse for wear, sulky and uncomfortable, while that Wood menace sat right in front of the Weasley devil, and he kept glancing back and smiling dumbly. Right… At this point, the blond was ready to take what he could get. Hugo didn’t choose to sit next to that Wood human calamity, and Draco chose to take this as a good sign.

Then his eyes floated across the room, because something seemed off – and sure enough, none of the students had a cauldron in front of them, nor a single piece of equipment. All the cauldrons were still neatly stacked at the back of the class, just where Draco had put them the evening before, and all the brewing utensils were soaking in the biggest cauldron – amazingly still filled with steaming water. And suddenly, he got an idea. Granted, it was a rather mad idea, but it would have to do. He was out of all the clever ones and, uh, other options. He needed the redhead’s attention back on him at all costs and, well – _if it works, it isn’t stupid,_ he thought to himself stubbornly.

“Good morning, class. As you are aware we have block scheduling today, which means we will be spending the next two school hours together. Plenty of time for what I have in mind. I fully intended to teach you how to make a Wolfsbane Potion this morning... and I still do. However, it has come to my attention that our equipment has not been cleaned properly for quite some time. According to Mr. Weasley there, our resident cleaner on duty – ” he waited for the giggle to subside, while Hugo raised both his arms like a champion, with an amused smile on his face, “ – the Muggles can do what the wizards can’t and restore our cauldrons to their proper shine. Now, since the Wolfsbane Potion is exceptionally sensitive regarding ingredients, and even the fumes of a badly-prepared mixture can cause side effects – such as hairy brows, elongated noses with the appearance of snouts, and even some very inconvenient and rather embarrassing random growling regardless of your gender – this is as good a moment as any to have our cauldrons and equipment properly cleaned. The Muggle way.”

The classroom erupted immediately.

“Yesss!” said a curvy brunette in the front row, pumping her fist in the air – clearly a Muggle-born who appreciated having an advantage for once – but she blushed deep pink when she saw Draco’s bemused eyes on her, and squealed: “Sorry, Professor!”

“I will most certainly do no such thing.”

A big, haughty-looking boy who had an air of a bully got up from the second row, looking appalled. “Some of us are still proud to be pure-bloods,” he hissed viciously. “We have hired help to do the cleaning!”

“Avery, is it?” Draco said calmly, expecting a backlash. The boy needed no introduction; he looked too much like his damn uncle. “You are allowed to leave, of course. I won’t bother to try and make any of you stay. But be warned: once you _do_ leave, you won’t be allowed back in. And should the potion we’re going to be making in the next hour be a part of your finals, it is your own fault entirely if you howl to the moon _for the rest of your living days_.”

The boy paled considerably and sent him a murderous look, but he sat down nevertheless, muttering angrily to himself.

“Anyone else? Anyone with more objections, please step forward now!”

Draco looked around the classroom, and though a skinny boy sitting next to Avery – the one that had been rolling his eyes the first day – glared at Draco suspiciously, looking entirely disgruntled, he wisely kept his mouth shut, and the blond decided to let it go.

“Now, if that’s the end of the rebellion, then I suggest we get straight to it and put this tedious business behind us. Mr. Weasley, I believe we’re going to need your expertise on this matter. Would you care to join me up here while I take care of… some preparation?”

Hugo raised an eyebrow, as if the request had somehow surprised him, but got up with no hesitation. But when the redhead approached Draco’s desk, he was already wearing one of those smiles that could light up the room, and that alone had made it all worth to Draco. As soon as he stopped next to him, Draco was engulfed in that wonderful Hugo essence that nearly made him close his eyes and inhale the damn thing – but instead, he just nodded as if greeting the redhead, and tried his best to at least appear professional.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” was all he said, but at the sight of Hugo’s smile, his heart soared. It was going to be all right. He wasn’t too late for… whatever needed fixing. But as soon as that kissable mouth stretched and the blue eyes lit up, Draco knew he was doomed. He cared for nothing else but keeping that smile and those eyes on him. Well, time to impress him some more… because this part he could really do.

“Mind your heads,” he said as casually as he could, waving his wand in a series of complex motions – and watched the students give a collective scream when the cauldrons flew across the classroom at a ridiculous speed. Many of the students felt the need to duck out of the way and scream some more, only to go quiet in awe when the cauldrons landed in front of them as light as feathers and filled with water that appeared to be steamy. It only took about a minute, and judging from all the jaws hanging open, Draco had utterly impressed them. How could he not, he had an entire childhood of setting up banquets to fall back on.

“And here I was thinking you didn’t know how to have fun,” the redhead murmured so quietly that the blond could barely hear him, but it was clear from the tone of Hugo’s voice that he was entertained.

“Wands in your schoolbags. That’s right, Mr. Avery, you as well. Please, stop looking at me as if you’re trying to burn a hole through me, I assure you I’m quite resistant to all sorts of dark looks. Perhaps I need to remind you that I was, in this very classroom, trained in the noble art of Potions by none other than the legendary Potions Master Severus Snape – who also happened to be the proud owner of the meanest dark look ever in existence. Just go and see his portrait for reference, I dare you. Now – how are we doing so far, Mr. Weasley?”

“Brilliant!” Hugo exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear. “Couldn’t have done it better myself… especially the cauldron cannonballs, wow! I think we all agree that that was seriously impressive, Professor!”

“Thank you,” Draco murmured, trying to suppress an entirely inappropriate goofy smile he never even knew he had in his repertoire when the spontaneous applause erupted. “Kindly point us forward, if you will, Mr. Weasley. I confess myself on entirely unfamiliar ground.”

“Right,” said Hugo with that killer smile, fixing a lock of loose fiery hair behind his ear absently as he turned towards the class. “My apologies in advance if this gets awkward. Everybody knows I’m a lover, not a talker.”

His eyes darted towards Draco so swiftly that the blond doubted that anyone had noticed, but his breath hitched excitedly nevertheless, because this was _shameless flirting_ if he ever saw it, and the mad boy had done it out in the open. A pleasant, bedazzling heat he knew all too well spread across his body, and he knew he was treading dangerous waters standing so close to Hugo – but he wasn’t willing to back off – not yet, not until it was clear Hugo got the message.

“Uhm, so everyone’s going to need one of these,” the redhead waved around the rectangular Muggle cleaning device. “They’re called kitchen sponges, in case anyone’s interested, and you need to add a bit of this purplish liquid on the rough side of it. Professor Malfoy, if I could trouble you – my multiplication charm is nowhere as smooth and flawless as I expect yours would be,” the blue-eyed angel smiled at him sweetly, and the way he blinked innocently did nothing to undo the melting process of one Draco Malfoy. The blond barely held back a possessive growl. Hugo’s luscious lips were too close and entirely too tempting.

“Well, yes… of course, there you go,” he murmured, not entirely trusting his voice to be immune to the slow-burning arousal building up inside him.

“Excellent!” Hugo exclaimed as soon as an army of sponges, already foaming, flew to the expectant students. “We’re nearly ready. Just one more thing. Remove your jackets and roll up your sleeves. Best do it all the way up to your elbows – this could get messy, but luckily, we’ve got Professor Malfoy here, who can have us all dry and neat at the flick of a wand.”

“Actually,” Draco’s said with his heart pounding in his throat, “I intend to be busy.”

As he began removing his overcoat and rolling up his sleeves, he had the rare pleasure of seeing Hugo Weasley surprised.

“You don’t mind if we share a cauldron?” the blond asked smugly, and was instantly awarded with a beautiful smile.

“Are you _sure_ … about taking part?” Hugo asked so softly that even the blond, standing right next to him, barely heard him. But those precious eyes glittered with a soft sapphire glow, and Draco could barely contain his giddiness.

“As I recall, I gave you a promise,” he said just as quietly. “If I couldn’t quite live up to it last night as I was somehow… distracted, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I still think it would make for an _interesting_ experience…”

“Indeed,” Hugo murmured, and smiled dreamily. “You know there isn’t a boring bone in my body.”

It sounded like a promise, and it melted the blond to the point that he had to stop himself before returning that flirtatious look. God, how he wanted to kiss that smile off Hugo’s lips, light up those sapphire eyes with a different kind of fire, feel those overpowering hands and those delicious lips on his skin again. Merlin… he had _a problem_. And because he stupidly enough let his thoughts wander in _that_ direction, it was just a matter of time before his problem became too obvious to ignore. He should really have known better, but around Hugo, the line between _“I really should…”_ and _“Don’t even think it!”_ became more than a little blurred.   

“Now, hands in the water everybody,” Hugo said to the class loudly, providing a much-needed distraction. “Hold your sponges, like so, and scrub your cauldrons with the rough part, as hard as you can. If you’re don’t feel yourself getting warm with the effort, you’re not doing it right. You’ll feel those stubborn bits of dirt peel off eventually, and some of you might actually figure out what colour your cauldron was before it turned black. Go on, dive in, and don’t stop until your cauldrons shine. If I can do it nearly every evening, it won’t kill you.”

“Professor… shall we?” Hugo asked the blond with a lopsided grin, and Draco nodded, suddenly nervous for no reason whatsoever.

“Don’t mind if we do,” he said as firmly as he could manage.

As soon as his hands disappeared into the water, he felt Hugo’s fingers around his wrist, and he barely suppressed a happy sigh when the tall redhead leaned into him, and that incredible Hugo fragrance hit him full force.

“You’re holding your hand too stiffly; it’s going to start hurting soon with some serious scrubbing,” the redhead murmured, and his long fingers slid down Draco’s wrists and into the palm of his hand smoothly, as if they weren’t in a classroom full of students. “Relax. Just move your sponge in circles… like so.”

His fingers painted a circular pattern onto the palm of the blond’s hand so gently, Draco had to bite his lip not to whimper. It was a good thing that the task ahead was merely a pretence to snatch Hugo for himself to begin with, because he couldn’t keep his focus on anything other than the alluring redhead painting patterns on his skin with those long, skilled fingers. God, it felt divine…

“Is this a joke?! _You_ … are _actually_ going to clean as well?”

Draco raised his head in surprise. The boy next to Avery was glaring at him with a mixture of loathing and disbelief, and the blond closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Why must there always be one stubbornly stupid creature among them? The skinny bastard was ruining his experience!

“Well, yes, of course,” he said haughtily, and more sharply than perhaps he should have. “You wouldn’t have a problem with that?” he snapped, not in the mood to explain himself.

“I just never knew I’d see _a Death Eater_ doing dishes!” the boy hissed, his eyes glaring, and the classroom suddenly went dead quiet, making Avery’s loud, sharp bark of a laughter that much more audible.

And Draco just stood there, his mind suddenly empty of all thoughts and words. All the rational responses to such provocation he had planned for this occasion went straight out of his head. He suddenly realised he wasn’t ready. Merlin, and to have those words thrown at him at a moment like this, when his defences were down, when he barely acknowledged the rest of the world… The long moments of silence suddenly began to drag him down. Perhaps he should never have come to this blasted school…

And suddenly, Avery’s cauldron jumped up, levitated precariously over his head for a short moment, then flipped over, and the entire contents of the cauldron crashed down onto the gorilla-like boy, soaking him through and through. With a loud _thunk,_ the cauldron landed on his head like a giant hat, and the boy fell down flat, to the startled screams of the female students. The skinny boy next to him must have known he was next, because he made sure he lost no time. He turned around and sprinted towards the door, but didn’t make it very far before he was knocked against the nearest wall sideways, and he slid down looking dazed.

And Draco was afraid to move. Was it him? Did he just – god forbid! – attack a student? Did his innate magic somehow translate his frustration into action? But he’d never been any good with wandless magic, and there were certainly instances in his life when he could’ve used it!

“You know, I expected a cheap trick like this from Avery,” came a clear, stone-cold voice from behind him, and when Hugo Weasley moved past him with those blue eyes aglow, he looked so pale and livid he was downright scary. When he passed Draco to approach the boy still lying on the ground by the wall trying to figure out which way was up, the blond couldn’t help but think the redhead was surprisingly like his intimidating mother, and as a distant memory, his cheek started aching. Almost as an afterthought, he noticed his magnificent avenging angel had no wand on him – and he remembered that moment from the night before, when he’d felt Hugo’s magic pulsing around him like a nearly-palpable, living thing. The boy’s magic must have been exceptionally strong – and magic like that must have been murder to control!

“Avery is just as much of a bully as my grandpa says his uncle used to be,” Hugo hissed angrily, while stopping in front of the skinny boy. “Believe me, I share a dorm with him, I know – and he’s likely to end up just like his uncle did. But you – _Colin Harry Creevey_ – I expected _nothing_ of the kind from you.”

“He’s a Death Eater… He shouldn’t be allowed to walk among the decent folk… let alone in school. He’ll harm and corrupt people… he’s done it before!” the boy said weakly, but stubbornly.

“Not only are you an ignorant _idiot_ , blinded by meaningless, empty hatred who doesn’t know half of the story, you also don’t deserve to carry your brave uncle’s name and _my_ brave uncle’s name. Shame on you!” Hugo growled so loudly the candles flickered.

“You go around telling everyone you were named after your Uncle Colin, who is remembered by everyone I know as one of the kindest, sweetest, most innocent souls who gave life for the peace we enjoy now. And you were named after my Uncle Harry, who still tosses and turns at night, screaming out the names of the people he saw fall, people who gave their lives to stand by his side when it would have been so much easier to simply yield. Do you think any of them, the people who died, would care for the hostility to go on?! They gave their lives for _peace_ , you fool, not hatred! You think your uncle would applaud you for what you just did? You think my Uncle Harry would congratulate you? Why don’t we find out?! I’m willing to fire-call Harry Potter himself right this minute, if it helps set your stupid mind right!”

The boy paled considerably, and finally managed to sit straight.

“There is no need…” he started in a shaky voice, but Hugo wasn’t done yet. He crouched down next to the boy, who was cringing away, and hissed from up close.

“And after you tell him what you just did, ask him if he could perhaps let you in on a secret, how this Death Eater’s _mother_ helped save him. Or, perhaps, how this _Death Eater_ refused to identify him surrounded by the worst of the Azkaban population. And even how this _Death Eater_ inherited a Time-turner that would have allowed him to change the past, perhaps revive the Dark Lord, or at least be once more reunited with his late wife whom he loved more than anyone – and he _gave it up_ to preserve our reality, in which he’s been treated as little better than the pariah by the likes of you!” the redhead roared, and his words sent shiver down Draco’s spine.

The blond had been a little weak in the knees ever since Hugo had barged past him, with his magic pulsing around him like a shield, looking entirely majestic in his wrath. And he came to his defence… when no one else would. And that… changed everything.

“I didn’t know…” the skinny boy sniffed quietly. “Dad is always on about how he bullied Uncle Colin back in school…”

“I bullied everyone,” Draco finally found the strength to speak, though his voice didn’t sound quite as solid as he would have liked. “Anyone who let me. I was a terribly spoilt child who was raised by his old-fashioned pure-blood father to do terrible things to those he didn’t deem his equals. I knew no better at the time. Only, when I was supposed to do a _truly_ terrible thing – kill Headmaster Dumbledore – I couldn’t do it. I was a coward, like all bullies are, but I was no cold-blooded murderer. And whatever harm I did after that – I did it to save my family. I was sixteen, as old as you are now, when I took the Dark Mark to protect them… so my mother didn’t have to. They came to my home - what else was I supposed to do? We were as much the Dark… Voldemort’s hostages as the rest of the wizarding world. And that’s god’s honest truth. I didn’t come to school to – as you so eloquently put it _– harm and corrupt_ young people. How could I? My son is one of them – and none of you can name one bad thing he’s done to any of you. It is not in his nature to be harmful – and I tried _very hard_ to do a better job in raising him than my father had done raising me.”

“I…” All the spirit seemed to run out of the Creevey boy. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, and Draco only nodded, still too emotionally shaken to forgive the silly boy.

“I guess you’ll have me expelled now, huh?” Colin asked dejectedly, and the tears started to pool in his eyes in earnest.

“I’m not the Head of your house,” Draco said stiffly. “The decision lies with Professor Longbottom. You’ll now walk to the Headmistress’ office, tell her what you’ve done, and I expect you to return for the second hour of our lessons – do mention that to her as well.”

“Yes, Professor,” the Creevey boy nodded with his eyes cast down on the floor, and tried to get up, none too steady on his legs just yet. “And I truly am… sorry, you know,” he mumbled, before he headed for the door, still leaning with one arm onto the wall as if he needed support.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco sighed. “Skip the visit to the Headmistress for now, Mr. Creevey. Mr. Wood – make sure he goes to the infirmary first. If anyone asks what happened, tell them there was a minor accident in Potions, they must be used to that by now. If Madam Pomfrey doesn’t keep him there, I want you both here in time for the lesson on Wolfsbane, is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” they both said unanimously, and the Wood boy didn’t look too disappointed to miss a lesson in Muggle cleaning. And Draco… well, to say that he was happy to see the back of him wouldn’t be too far from the truth. One less person drooling over Hugo was fine by him. Besides, he had something to do, urgently. In fact, he was bursting with the need to do it.

“When this one wakes,” he pointed to Avery, who slowly began to growl under his cauldron, “send him on the way to the hospital wing as well, will you? Mr. Corner, I’m entrusting you with the task of making sure he gets there; you seem to like the company of bad, dangerous boys.”

The shocked look on Michael Corner’s face was almost comical, but Draco had no time for that.

“Everyone – you’ve been given instructions on what to do, and in the next twenty minutes, I expect you to do it. I want to see that brass, pewter, and copper shine through the black when I come back – and no cheating. You know very well cleaning by magic won’t do it.”

Ignoring the unhappy growls coming from the class, who were quick to discover that cleaning the Muggle way wasn’t exactly a Sunday picnic, Draco turned towards Hugo,

“And you, Mr. Weasley – follow me, please,” he said as sternly as he could, even if it took all his Malfoyness to pretend he was indifferent, when he was bursting with a most impossible mix of emotions. “You just assaulted two students in my presence, however noble the motivation for your actions was – and for at least one of them, I’m certain the parents will want to know how the culprit has been punished. We need to give them something. Therefore, as sad as it makes me, we need to discuss the terms of your penance, since taking the points from Slytherin house no longer seems to be a viable option, and cleaning seems to entertain you much more than it should.”

“Oh, bugger,” Hugo murmured, but not sounding too alarmed. “This cleaning-cauldrons business is entirely ill-fated.”

“But it was a spontaneous outburst of magic!” Michael Corner blurted out, clearly too vexingly a Gryffindor to let go of an injustice. “Anyone could see that! It wasn’t his _fault_! And he stood up for you! You shouldn’t want to punish him!”

“It’s not a question of _want_ , Mr. Corner, it’s a question of _need_ ,” Draco cut him off, already headed for the door, and willing to waste no more time on the annoying righteous boy. “Don’t worry, I will make sure your bad-boy champion doesn’t suffer too greatly. Weasley – ”

“If I must,” Hugo mumbled and grimaced, but the way he was already close on Draco’s heels made the blond think the redhead knew very well that this little interlude had nothing to do with any kind of punishment. As the blond hurried to his living quarters just at the end of the long, narrow corridor, he didn’t even feel guilty. He knew he should wait until the evening when he could have the gorgeous redhead all to himself, but he just… couldn’t. _He couldn’t._ He needed to let him know, here and now, that he had changed his mind and was not prepared to risk losing him again for as little time as they had. This… couldn’t wait. It was too bloody urgent, and every minute was a loss. And there was just one way to show Hugo he was serious.

The door to his room couldn’t open fast enough, and once it did, it barely clicked behind them before Draco had Hugo pressed against the wall. The blond didn’t say a word; he didn’t need to. He kissed Hugo with all the pent-up frustration of this wretched morning, with all the urgency to own him, to thank him, and to communicate to him the only way he knew how just how badly he needed him.

“Thank you,” Draco finally managed to slip into the fierce storm of kisses, but he wasn’t certain himself if he was thanking him for standing up for him, or for the fact that he was here, making his dreams come true.

“You’re welcome,” Hugo whispered into his mouth, slipping his tongue into Draco’s mouth so effortlessly, it made the blond moan wantonly. “And this is a wonderful punishment… Am I supposed to love it quite so much, Professor?”

“You… Merlin’s hairy balls… you’ll be the death of me. You have less than twenty minutes to demonstrate… to this confused, and unconvinced teacher…  why this utterly wretched concept… _oh, god, don’t stop_ … of having any kind of a carnal… _Merlin,_ whatever this is… with a volatile… hot-headed… aggressive… walking calamity… such as yourself… would be a good idea!” Draco panted, his shirt already torn in two by the redheaded beast – oh, fuck it, he had others – and his trousers undone – when did that happen, and how?! … _ohgod_ …

Hugo’s mouth was buried in Draco’s neck, marking it everywhere with hard, merciless kisses, and that delectable, soothing tongue was making the blond’s knees melt. And when Hugo’s large hand slipped into his pants and freed his cock, Draco had to bite down on the mad redhead’s wide, muscled shoulder to muffle his quiet moan.

“Oh… kinky…” Hugo murmured. “Likes to bite… I must remember that… And no Silencing… or Locking charm… Professor, you wouldn’t happen to like playing with fire, would you?”

“Yes… I… _ohfuckMerlinJesus_ …” Draco whimpered, because the large hand began fondling his balls, and it was just the most mind-melting feeling ever.

“See… a point in my favour already…” Hugo purred into his ear before worrying his earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been called dangerous – even reckless – before… we are going to get on like a house on fire. As to the other points… Merlin, where to start? How about… you get to bury this delicious, angry cock of yours deep in my mouth as many times as you like? I like sucking cock as it is… but simply _love_ sucking yours.”

“ _Godfuck_ … yes… oh, yes… now…”

“No, not now… you naughty thing…” Hugo chuckled with delight. “You’ve got a class full of students waiting for you… and I might have something different in mind. Besides, I’m nowhere near finished listing my reasons…” the blue-eyed incubus whispered into his mouth before he painted a string of delicious kisses from one of the blond’s ears to the other. “Merlin, you’re beautiful… I love your neck… so elegant… so royal… I love marking it… I love telling the _world ‘Hugo Weasley was here… and Draco Malfoy let him’_ … One day, precious. Now, back to my reasons; you’re delicious enough to distract me…”

Almost casually, the Weasley devil brought the blond’s hand to his mouth, licking the palm slowly, like a purring Kneazle, and then dipped every one of his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them all without ever taking those magical blue eyes off the Draco’s face. The blond felt a charge going all the way down to his toes when the gentle tongue enveloped one finger after another, and he moaned wantonly: “You gorgeous bastard…”

“You like? There are so many places on your body I can introduce to pleasure…” Hugo murmured with a glitter in his eyes. “How about I start with this beautiful, princely hand... and introduce it to someone who’d really like to meet it?”

And suddenly Draco’s wet hand was led to the hot bulge in the redhead’s school trousers, and he whimpered when he realised what Hugo wanted him to do.

“Take it out,” Hugo ordered quietly. “I know you want to. I know you’ve never done this before. Just… go slowly… undo the buttons… yes, like this… one by one…”

“You’re not…” Draco choked.

“Wearing underwear? Oops,” Hugo smiled like the devil he was. “Must have slipped my mind this morning… I sleep naked, you see… and sometimes I forget. You’re almost there, love… take it out… that’s it… You need to feel it in your hand… yes, like that… god, yes… I knew you’d be a natural…”

Draco’s hot, shaky hand was suddenly wrapped around the hard, heavy, pulsing cock for the first time ever, and he was fucking breathless.

“Merlin…” he whispered, because he had dreamed of this since he was fifteen, and some of his wildest fantasies focused on this moment alone.

“I see this particular argument bears _weight_ ,” Hugo smiled and bit his lower lip, looking flushed, gorgeous, and entirely delectable. “Come on… Run your fingers along… feel it… Yes, that’s right… like this…Merlin, you feel amazing… oh, god, fuck, yes!”

Draco finally gathered his courage and closed his fist around it, mewling quietly when he discovered it barely fit. He moved his hand experimentally up and down, and Hugo’s whispered _“fuck… yes… like this…”_ gave him the confidence he needed.  

“More… like this...” Hugo whispered hotly in his ear, and Draco saw stars when the redhead’s big palm engulfed his shaft and started pumping it without mercy.

“I reckon we’ve got a few minutes more,” Hugo whispered into the blond’s moaning mouth while working his cock as if there was nothing he’d rather be doing. “Can you show me why _you_ want this… in ten minutes or so, Professor? Because I know why I do… You’ve got the sexiest, tightest bum in England, and I won’t rest until you let me own it. I’ve got plans for that glorious arse… and they include having my cock buried in it, making you wild with lust… pounding you into the mattress until you’re too far gone to beg for more. You’ve never had a cock up your arse, have you? Oh, I know you haven’t… but you want to, don’t you? Yeah… moan for me, pretty… I’ll give it to you if you ask nicely… I’ll have you fucking _addicted_ to this thing,” Hugo smiled in that infernal way that always set Draco’s blood on fire, and made him whimper some more.

Salazar’s naked balls, Draco never knew he had such a kink for dirty talk… The way Hugo breathed filthy words and promises into his ear was pushing him straight to the edge with wild, forbidden imagery he only allowed himself to picture when he wanked furiously.

“But we’ve got time for that… two months… time enough to take it slow…” the redhead whispered, his voice breathless and strained, and in one glorious moment Draco realised that it was because he was making him come.  Merlin’s limp cock, he was close to making another man come! That thought in its own right was nearly enough to push him over the edge, and the tightening of his balls told him he was seconds away.

“Please…” he whimpered. “Oh, god please… don’t stop now!”

“Why would I want to stop, precious, when I want _nothing_ better than to fuck your tight, pretty fist… and I want _you_ to slam that beautiful, needy cock into mine… God, you’re gorgeous… I’m going to get you a matching nipple ring to put on this lovely pink pebble of yours, so I can pull on it when we fuck… and you can get high on that pleasure-pain thing you adore so much… So close, love… I can feel yours too, leaking… throbbing so desperately… nearly there… yes, baby… let me have it… let it go… _fuck_ , Draco! Ohhhh… fuck, babe…”

The blond was barely aware that he whimpered a pathetic little _“Hugh… Merlinfuck…”_  before his eyes stopped on a breathtaking image of Hugo Weasley with his head thrown back, completely taken over by the bliss of release, and Draco’s needy cock just burst with a majestic load of come that propelled him into that mind-blowing darkness he was only introduced to recently. Hugo… gods, Hugo… Everything about the lovely, sensual redhead made him come like no other… his skilled hand, that pretty, filthy mouth… even the whispered promises. He was utterly and entirely defenceless against the redhead, and now the Weasley demon knew it. Draco was well aware that by giving into his weakness – just like this, right this moment, spontaneously, with complete disregard for decency and danger – he was letting Hugo know how much he wanted this.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Hugo ran his thumb gently across the blond’s jawline, and Draco opened his eyes to the sight of those kissable lips moving closer and kissing him chastely. He promptly decided that the freckled imp’s pretty face with that sweet smile and those soft-glowing blue eyes was his favourite new sight.

“We need to go back,” the redhead reminded him, but Draco just grunted. He didn’t feel like it, and he wasn’t entirely sure his legs would actually carry him.

“I’ve got a bit of detention left tonight,” Hugo spoke, and bit his bottom lip in that sexy, sensual way that did nothing to motivate Draco to actually move. “If we clean those damn cauldrons right now, we might have a few hours this evening to make the best of it,” the redhead whispered in his ear, and the blond mewled happily. Now, _that_ was a plan he could get behind.

“Got plans galore,” Draco murmured, and leaned his forehead onto the redhead’s chest. “You made me a lot of promises… and I fully intend to hold you to them. It seems I can’t do without you… Mr. Weasley.”

“Are you suggesting I should cancel my Hogsmeade plans for this weekend, Professor?” Hugo asked innocently, and the way Draco’s head surged up, suddenly alert, made the redhead chuckle with naughty mirth.

“I _don’t_ share,” Draco said pointedly, entirely serious. “I… we’re _exclusive_. As long as I’m here, we’re exclusive. I need your word on that.”

“In that case, you make sure you clear your evening schedule for me, Professor,” Hugo murmured. “For as many evenings as you can. I dare say I’m a pretty demanding, hot-tempered redhead, who wants to have his needs taken care of as well as if he weren’t… exclusive. Can _I_ hold you to _that_?”

“I’ll… try,” Draco said, suddenly not so certain anymore if he had what it took to keep Hugo in check.

“Good enough for me,” the redhead murmured enigmatically. “I’m not worried at all. As far as I’m concerned, you’re pretty amazing.”

 _God help me_ , Draco thought weakly, when that soft Kneazle of a boy tucked his pretty fiery head into the crook of his neck, and kissed the tender skin above his pulse-point hungrily.

“For some extra credit, Professor?”

It didn’t look like they were going anywhere just yet after all.

~


	8. Chapter 8

“God, yes!! Hugo… yes… oh… _Jesusfuckboy_ …”

It took Draco ages to come down from his high this time. Just like Hugo had promised, the blond was slowly introduced to the lovely, sensual, and utterly debauched art of having a cock up his arse… and he was loving every minute of it. Calling him addicted to having his arse worshipped, taken care of – with that delicious mouth, skilled fingers and masterful cock – pounded into the mattress, and just filled to the brim with every kind of _wrong_ that could make him scream in savage pleasure… yeah, that wouldn’t have been entirely off the mark. And who knew that Slytherin ties and something as old-fashioned as trouser braces had… uh, alternative use and such grand erotic potential? God, the things he learned… And tonight, Hugo had given it his all. It was their last night, after all.

Draco couldn’t imagine how the two months had gone by so quickly. It felt as though it were only yesterday when he’d spotted the fiery head and a set of blue eyes staring… no, _calling_ him across the classroom – and his world had never been the same again. And now it was their last evening together, and Draco just… couldn’t fathom it. He’d grown so, so very used to this, to their secret arrangement… perhaps too used to it for his own good.

It took a bit of ingenuity, but they managed to carry on this… relationship business –  and hide it – surprisingly well. Hugo continued to be the devil incarnate, earning himself one detention after another with his Head of house, who was always happy to offer to punish the unruly boy for the other professors – _“… after all, he’s in my house, and frankly, I feel responsible”_ – and they were always relieved and more than happy to oblige. No one was too keen on delivering penance to the son of the current Minister for Magic. And Draco, as a true Slytherin, cunningly used the incident involving Avery and Creevey to argue successfully with the Headmistress that tensions were high in the sixth-year Slytherin quarters, and that assigning Hugo a separate bedroom, normally reserved for a Head Boy, might go a long way towards preventing further injury…

Draco never once went there – the risk was too great – but now his lovely redheaded sex god could return to his room quite late, and no one would really notice. And this was… necessary. The blond didn’t know when or how it happened, but what were supposed to be short encounters – an hour or two at most – filled with some quick fucking to relieve the sexual tension and satisfy their inexplicable hunger for each other, had somehow morphed into hours of glorious lovemaking, talking, laughing, and – god help him! – cuddling he never knew he would appreciate quite so much.

All the athletic fucking – that Draco suspected was far more suited to someone half his age – left the blond so exhausted, he usually fell asleep before the redhead left… and when he woke up alone, the blond tried very hard not to think about how empty his bed felt without the big, warm body cuddling up to him. But now they were out of time. These were their last moments together. His employment at Hogwarts was ending, and tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would take them home. It was not likely he would ever see those lovely eyes light up at the sight of him, have that incredible, sexy smile brighten up his day, or feel that warm, majestic body pull him closer with the promise of pleasure and comfort like none other could deliver. In a few hours, it would all be finished. And it ached in a way it was not supposed to ache.

Draco huddled closer to his lovely Weasley man-child, who lay there, with that sweet, soft, happy-Kneazle post-coital smile on his pretty face, and tried to chase the depressing thoughts away. He would think of it tomorrow. Or later. When the loneliness hit, he would not be able to avoid it, and he doubted he would ever forget. But he would not think of it right now. Right now, he wanted to make the last of the precious memories that were going to carry him through the long, lonely summer in the manor… and through the rest of his dull life he was sure to spend daydreaming of the glossy red hair slipping through his fingers and the strong arms holding him close.

“Will you miss me?” flew out of him before he could think better of it, and now that it was out, it ached just a little bit more, like an annoying paper cut that barely showed but hurt like a bitch.

Hugo opened his brilliant blue eyes, and turned his face towards him.

“I already miss you,” he said quietly. “I was thinking… would you like me to stay the night? I’ve already packed, and it’s our last. And…”

“Yes,” Draco blurted out before his evil rational mind got a chance to speak and tell him what a rotten idea that was. “I… would appreciate that very much.”

He was immediately rewarded with a radiant smile and a long sensual kiss.

“ _Appreciate_ …” Hugo chuckled softly into their kiss. “Two months of mad shagging like it comes with a prize, and you’re still such a lovable stiff prick… You can’t say ‘love’, or even ‘like’… no, it’s _‘appreciate’_ … god, I love you for being so… _you..._ all the time.”

And those words left Draco with a strange buzzing in the centre of his chest, and something in there ached for more… more of this lovely, radiant, warm creature who sneaked into his life so unexpectedly, and stubbornly crawled straight into his heart, refusing to leave. God, how was he going to survive this?

“One more… for extra credit, Professor?” Hugo murmured sweetly, nuzzling tenderly into his ear, and Draco, suddenly filled with a sense of desperate urgency to keep this blissful illusion up for just a little bit longer, just nodded silently.

“One more,” he agreed with a heavy sigh when Hugo’s mouth sank down onto his neck. The blond knew when he woke up alone there would be hell to pay.

~

He saw Hugo in the morning at breakfast, dressed in his Muggle clothes, digging into his meal like only a Weasley could and, judging by the amount of laughter coming from the Slytherin table, clearly enjoying himself with his housemates. He looked like a dream come true, and that aching emptiness in Draco’s chest became even more pronounced as he soaked in the last images of the lovely boy he had let into his tight little world and now struggled with letting go.

He knew it was stupid of him… but it when they’d started it, it was supposed to be just… sex, however glorious; just an outlet for this incomprehensible, insane attraction the both felt for one another – only… now it suddenly wasn’t, and how could he have known? Perhaps it was always just a little bit more… and he’d been lying to himself all this time? Merlin, he shouldn’t even be thinking that, or the safe little world he was returning to would be shaken to the core. He couldn’t bear the thought that he was perhaps losing more than just a fiery lover, a boy who made his every fantasy come to life – but more… so much more. The word ‘heartbreak’ stubbornly came to mind time and time again when he sought to make sense of his feelings, but he refused to go there. That… couldn’t have been it. His mind must have been somehow confused. This… longing… it had to be something that had nothing to do with his heart. It had to.

He must have been staring quite obviously, because Sinistra had to cough quite loudly to finally capture his attention. Apparently, she’d been having a very one-sided monologue for quite some time already, and Draco honestly felt like a brute. It wasn’t her fault if she was as boring as the grey sheets of an old maid.

“I do apologise,” Draco said courtly, “I appear to be somewhat distracted this morning. It is my last day and there’s a lot on my mind.”

“They do get so under your skin, don’t they?” Sinistra said unusually thoughtfully. “Throughout the year, I honestly want to strangle them most of the time, but when they leave for the summer… well, I confess I do miss them… just a tad.”

“Ah – yes…” was all Draco managed, because Hugo finally noticed him, and his face lit up in a killer smile that made the blond swallow thickly, and he struggled to keep up his indifferent front. God, he was going to miss that smile! How could he even lie to himself that he wouldn’t? He would miss it insanely. But then his breath hitched, because the redhead said something to his company at the table, got up, and headed directly for the professors’ table.

“Weasley,” Sinistra spoke sternly. “We’re enjoying our meal. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.”

“Actually, it can’t,” Hugo said calmly. “You’ll be back next year, but Professor Malfoy won’t be. I can’t hope to find him in all the chaos of the departure later, and I’m sure he’s got different company in mind for Hogwarts Express. But because he’s just about the best Potions teacher ever, I got him a present.”

He took a small rectangular box out of his pocket, clearly shrunken, and looked at Draco in the face with those cerulean eyes.

“Don’t open it until you’re home… and not before you receive your first owl. Please.”

Draco was too distraught to even flinch at the bizarre request. He just nodded, heart clenching painfully, and he had to clear his throat before barely managed a strangled: “Thank you, Weasley.”

Hugo just smiled and turned to leave, but for someone who knew his smile as well as Draco did, it was obviously missing some of its usual radiance.

“Well, I never… he didn’t even say goodbye to me,” Sinistra complained. “But I dare say he must really like you,” she continued thoughtfully. “I don’t recall him ever paying attention to any of the teachers.”

“He’s... quite something,” Draco finally murmured, after a quick self-assessment told him that words like “exceptional”, “breathtaking” and “mesmerising” probably wouldn’t quite pass for normal. He clutched the tiny present in his hand and almost felt as if he could feel Hugo’s warmth radiating in the palm of his hand. He wished he had thought to give a parting present of his own to the lovely, enigmatic boy, but the way his chest ached, it seemed as if he might have inadvertently given him a treasure he’d never meant to part with.

~

As Hugo predicted, Draco didn’t get a chance to see him again on the train. Scorpius dutifully came to his compartment to sit with him, but it soon became obvious from his morose mood and depressed sighs that he was having a hard time dealing with the notion of two lonely months away from his girlfriend and his best friend, so Draco finally gave up on him and send him off with an official invitation for them to come over to the manor in a couple of days. The way his smitten son beamed at him and dashed for the door made the blond smile. Bless his lovely boy, it was so easy to make him happy. At least one of them should be, he decided tiredly, as he found himself alone and with too much time for his mind to wander. But this days, his mind only knew one destination. Hugo.

Would he ever see the charismatic devil again? What would their meeting be like, years from now? Would the unruly, promiscuous boy even remember him? As what? As just a face in his endless string of lovers? Was he ever more? A heavy sense of loss descended on Draco like a dark cloud. Hugo, standing at the threshold of adulthood, was moving on with the flow of life, and as well as the blond knew the mad, wonderful boy, he would embrace it fully.  And that same life held nothing in store for Draco. He would remain locked in that tomb he called home for the remainder of his days, with that terrible, wild, insatiable longing to once again feel those strong arms around him, owning him, inhale the warm, hypnotic essence of Hugo’s presence that could make him hard from three feet away, and once more feel all that untamed life and sense of freedom pervade him and carry him away when they kissed. He’d never felt more alive. He’d never felt happier. More… loved.

He was done lying to himself. He had somehow formed this _delusion_ that this… whatever was between Hugo and himself, had been more than just sex. It certainly _felt_ every bit that way when he was with the passionate boy, locked in his sensual, intoxicating presence. But it was only a self-made deception he indulged in because… he wouldn’t be able to handle the emptiness without such a relationship perhaps? That had to be it. And now it had to come to an end. Better sooner rather than later. He would never see Hugo again – not in a way that would allow him any kind of meaningful contact. And he had a pretty strong feeling he would never again meet someone like Hugo. There was no one like him out there. And part of the bitter truth he admitted to himself was… that it hurt so much it felt physical.

He had a sudden, desperate urge to see the freckled incubus who had made such a wreck out of him, and he got up quickly, but immediately sat down again. It would just be awkward… and frankly, he would be heartbroken if Hugo ignored him, or treated him with indifference. His fingers touched the tiny box in his pocket, and he smiled sadly. Hugo had given him a pretty good parting memory, hadn’t he? But still, he was hungry for more. Just one last look… one stolen glance to soak up the image of that pretty, freckled face with unforgettable eyes, and a delectable mouth he would never own again… just one that he could commit to memory. He had to; he needed his last fix of sweet torment.

So when the train stopped at King’s Cross, he pretended to still be fumbling with his luggage, and he sent Scorpius ahead to say one final goodbye to Al and Rose. As soon as his son was gone, Draco was at the window, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the fiery head that made his heart soar. It didn’t take long and it wasn’t very difficult. Hugo stepped out, unloaded his luggage – and then turned to the exact window Draco occupied. And the blond’s breath stopped somewhere halfway to his lungs as the gorgeous boy raised his hand in greeting, and smiled beautifully. And just like that, Draco Malfoy realised... he was in love. It wasn’t even a big revelation – more like a recognition of something he could no longer deny. He was in love with Hugo Weasley… whom he would never see again.

His legs carried him towards the door all by themselves, and he would have forgotten his bloody luggage if he hadn’t nearly tripped over it. He needed to speak to his Weasley, he needed to say goodbye at least, properly, he needed… a million and one things he would never have the courage to do. He needed his blue-eyed, redheaded poison too much for words. But when he made it to the door, Hugo was no longer standing in front of the train. Disappointment flooded Draco like muddy water. He’d only been gone a bloody minute; how could the silly, wonderful boy disappear in so short a time?!

But then he finally spotted the fiery head, and his hopes were instantly dashed. Hugo was no longer alone. He was standing by his bloody father and Potter – and they must have had some sort of repelling charm around them, because there was a considerable gap around them, almost as if people were unwilling to come near. No one seemed to notice them, even though Potter at least, was usually flooded in attention. Draco reckoned that he was only able to spot them because his eyes followed Hugo and not one of them. But it all made sense once Hugo moved and the blond finally saw what the redhead was seeing: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were holding hands. And Draco actually felt a little faint. _That_ … changed _everything_.

“Finally!” Hugo’s warm voice swam towards him, and the boy sounded genuinely happy.

“Yeah… We reckoned it was time,” Ron Weasley said, sounding just a bit insecure. “Harry said you’d be all right with it.”

“I told him we could give you an early birthday present and just… come out,” Potter said calmly, with the innate confidence that came with the absolute conviction that he was right.

“You bet!” Hugo said, and spontaneously pulled them both into a bear-hug. Draco could almost feel the happiness radiate from him, even from a distance, and somehow, it had made his eyes water. Bloody boy… He was just… riveting, wasn’t he?

“But what about Mum? How did she take it? You did tell her, didn’t you? I reckon, or you’d both be followed by a flock of livid hippogriffs! Does Rose know?”

“We sent Rose an owl because… uhm, she’s temperamental, and we didn’t really want her to inadvertently… attract attention. We’ve swore her to secrecy, too, just to impress you,” Potter chuckled, and it made Hugo playfully smack him.

“And you wonder why you’re my favourite uncle,” he mumbled, and Draco found that he could even be jealous of that – of Potter stealing _his_ Weasley’s attention.

“Your mother, unsurprisingly, knew,” Ron Weasley spoke, suddenly quite flushed. “It was a bloody emotional scene, too! She said she knew all along, and that she could never quite believe I picked her over Harry. She always thought we… uhm, Harry and I, had a good arrangement, because she worked so much – and loved it – and she didn’t really mind it because… well, because it was Harry _. “If it were anyone else, Ron, I would have thestrals pick every last hair off your head,”_ she said, scary as she is, but because it’s Harry, she thought he deserved the best. I just can’t figure out how she thought that would be me,” Ron Weasley blushed even deeper and held Potter’s hand tightly, as if he was afraid that the Saviour would change his mind.

“Can’t think of anyone better,” Potter said, grinning so madly it wasn’t hard to see how happy he was with his choice.

“Oh boy… This… it’ll be huge, you know,” Hugo spoke so softly, the blond barely heard him from a distance. “It won’t be like me, coming out in Hogwarts – you’re, like… you’re _important_ ,” he finally concluded. “Harry Potter and Ron Weasley… together. This will be so important to so many people who don’t have the courage to just come out, be themselves and own it. You’ll be the first.”

“And that’s why we thought it would make an excellent present if we showed up to your birthday party together,” Potter said with a smile. “And obviously, we’d also get you a cake. Chocolate icing, with orange flavour.”

“Yeah, that’s because you knew you could stick your hand-holding surprise where the sun doesn’t shine if you didn’t bring the cake,” Hugo chuckled and hugged them tightly once more. “Dad… Uncle Harry, I wish everyone were as brave as you.”

Draco couldn’t take all that… happiness anymore. Strangely numb, and not quite steady on his feet, he turned around and started looking for Scorpius. He shouldn’t have stayed, and listened, and envied – it had only left him more wretched than before. When would he learn?

~


	9. Chapter 9

God, hours dragged like days! Draco had only been home for less than a day, but he’d been restless and moody, and generally unhappy the entire time. He couldn’t remember what in god’s name he’d filled the long days of his solitary existence with before he accepted McGonagall’s offer. And it didn’t help one bit that his sleep had been absolutely god-awful. He didn’t want to go to sleep at all, fearing that the memories of falling asleep with the strong arms around him would return with a vengeance. He tried to delay going to bed by staying up uncommonly late, busying himself with everything he could think of – finances, inspection of property, even the household chores until his old house-elf Wheezy began muttering under his breath about master meddling and exerting himself – but in the end, the fatigue and depression that’d been wrapped around him like a grey shroud ever since he got home got the better of him.

He’d taken a potion in the end, hoping it would knock him out for good, but it had brought the nightmares, and when his memories of war mingled with a whispered _“if you won’t have more”_ echoing in his head – he couldn’t bloody wait to wake up! And when he did, it was with a startled scream, and he just laid there, absolutely exhausted, feeling empty and with a sense of loss pervading him as if he was drowning in it. Thoughts of Hugo came, and he was no longer willing to stop them. They were his only comfort, and he smiled into the darkness when he remembered the way the cuddly redhead buried his head into his neck, and declared it a “Hugo zone”.

He found out he needed the lovely, aching memories as much as he needed to breathe, so he went looking for Hugo’s shirt his hot-blooded lover never asked him to return. He had hidden it so the house-elves wouldn’t find it and clean it by mistake, obliterating the precious fragrance of his blue-eyed angel for good. Only when he put it on was he able to doze off, and even in his sleep, he thought he could hear the redhead’s warm chuckle. He woke up at dawn, lost and tired, unwilling to leave the bed, and with no purpose for the day ahead in mind.

More out of habit than anything else, he finally got up, got dressed, and walked to the breakfast parlour to at least enjoy the company of his son. Scorpius was a creature of habit; he always got up precisely at the same time as he would for breakfast at Hogwarts. And when Draco entered, he was already bouncing in his seat, with a big grey owl hooting around his head. Draco’s heart leapt at the sight, instantly remembering Hugo’s present and his words, but his spirit sank immediately when Scorpius squealed excitedly:

“There was an owl for me even before breakfast was served! Rose and Al are inviting me over to help them with preparations for Hugo’s 17th birthday party! He actually turns 17 today, but it’s the middle of the week, and it’s just not the same as having it on the weekend, so they’re throwing it on Saturday and it will be huge! Oh, father, can I go? Can I? I’d really love to! They could really use me, Rose says!”

“I don’t recall ever seeing you so enthusiastic about work,” Draco murmured to himself, his mood souring by the minute. Scorpius’ company was the only solace in the greyness of his day… but he didn’t have the heart to stand in the way of his happiness.

“You are actually 17 yourself, you know,” he said as kindly as he could, trying very hard not to sound bitter. “You don’t need my permission anymore. You are welcome to do as you please.”

“Well, yes, Father, but… I know you were really looking forward to spending some time together, and it would be nothing short of rude not to at least ask for your approval,” Scorpius said sheepishly.

“I see,” Draco said, his heart becoming just a little lighter at the thought that he was still somehow worth a consideration to his son. “In that case, it is equally polite to give it, I dare say.”

The way Scorpius beamed, it was obvious he had done the right thing.

“Thank you, Father! I shall get ready immediately after breakfast then! Let me just write Rose a quick reply.”

“How long will you be gone, you reckon?” Draco asked, hoping at least for some time spent having dinner together.

“I should be back on Sunday,” Scorpius said distractedly, scribbling quickly something onto the parchment, and Draco’s heart sank to the ground. Six full days, almost seven! And his son, smitten silly with Rose Weasley, thought nothing of it. He had to bite back an acid remark his old, adolescent self would undoubtedly have spit out and remind himself that there were plenty of lonely, boring days ahead. It was just a matter of time before Scorpius moved out permanently; he might as well get used to the bleakness of his life.

He forced himself to put on a stiff, courtly smile and said as politely as he could:

“Pass my greetings to the Weasley-Potter family, if you will.”

But his voice must have betrayed him nevertheless, because Scorpius immediately stopped scribbling and said insecurely:

“Father… are you sure it’s all right with you? I mean… it is a whole week… perhaps I should come and drop by, say, Thursday? For lunch?”

“Dear boy, don’t be ridiculous,” Draco barked, eager to mask his disappointment. “I’ve done very well all those years when you were at Hogwarts, haven’t I? Don’t worry about your old father, go and have fun with Albus and Rose, I insist.”

And then Scorpius, his reserved, shy boy, came by and threw his arms around him.

“Best father ever,” he murmured into his shoulder, and the tight clutches of bitterness around Draco’s heart actually loosened a bit more. Oh, dear, all that… Weasley-Potterness was definitely rubbing off on his son – now they were hugging!

“Go, before I have you kicked out,” Draco murmured, and he even sounded mushy to his own ears. He really was turning into a proper softie!

“Yes… I better,” Scorpius said – even sniffed? – and chuckled. “Rose doesn’t like me to be late and she’s… uh, she’s got temper.”

“Well, she’s a Weasley, you know,” Draco commented dryly. “Their picture is in the dictionary under _‘dragon, ginger variety'._ ”

“Yes, she’s majestic!” Scorpius said with a big, silly grin on his face, and Draco mentally sighed a little. He was happy for his boy… he was. If only his own lot had been a little brighter.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to have spotted any owls for me this morning, would you?” he asked more out of despair than out of any real hope, but Scorpius, stuffing his mouth full, merely shook his head, and Draco tried not to look to disappointed. He wondered if he was going to get a single owl this summer. He certainly had no reason to expect one. Merlin, how had he survived nearly a decade of this… _void_ his life had become?!

“I better get going,” Scorpius declared suddenly and got up. The boy must have inhaled his food!

“Father, are you sure…?”

“Have fun,” Draco interrupted him. “And give my best to the birthday boy… to Hugo.” Merlin, who knew even saying his name out loud would bring ripples of longing to the surface.

“I will,” Scorpius said cheerfully. “Goodbye until Sunday, then. Oh, and Father? That owl you asked about… it’s here.”

And suddenly Draco’s heart found the way to his throat.

~

It wasn’t Hugo’s owl. Draco would know that majestic feathery snow queen anywhere, and it looked nothing like this big, grey tired-looking owl that appeared to have a lot of mileage behind it. Draco tried not to feel too disappointed. After all, Hugo didn’t say the owl was going to come from him, he reminded himself; just, that there was going to be one. But when he fed the animal a fistful of snacks and grabbed a letter from her, he frowned. It bore a Hogwarts insignia… which was… odd. Why would someone from Hogwarts be writing him? He was done there, finished; McGonagall had said so herself, when she thanked him profoundly for coming to their rescue.

Yet the writing was undoubtedly from her – Draco had become quite familiar with her adamant, stern-looking cursive.

_“Dear Mr. Malfoy – Draco,_

_I sincerely apologise for interrupting your well-deserved rest so early in the summer, but this is a bit of an emergency._

_It has just come to my attention that our colleague and your friend, Mrs. Parkinson-Zabini, won’t be returning to her post at Hogwarts after all, at least not for another year. It turns out that what we all – including herself – presumed to be a severe case of dragon pox, was in fact, something far less sinister. As it is – she appears to be with child, and her symptoms were nothing more than an exceptionally difficult pregnancy._

_This is a happy occasion, of course, as Pansy and her husband, Mr. Zabini, never really made it a secret that they would welcome a child with great enthusiasm – however, it does leave me, as the headmistress, in a bit of an awkward situation, of having to provide a replacement on very short notice. I’m well aware of how tiring you must have found the two months you dedicated to educating the wizarding world’s finest at Hogwarts, but you appeared to take to teaching like a fish to water and you seemed perfectly content, if not right out happy._

_It is for that reason that I dare ask you to extend your service to your old school by offering you the post of a Potions Master for another year. You would be doing Hogwarts, myself, and your future students an immense favour._

_Due to the urgent status of the affair – which will require me to go through a thorough and difficult selection procedure of other candidates, should you decline – I’m afraid I have to ask you to reply within three days._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Headmistress_

Draco reached into his pocket without daring to think further. He had no idea how the Weasley demon-child could possibly have known that he would be receiving such a letter, but that was Hugo, the enigmatic, magical creature who followed his own set of rules, so anything was on the table.

He took out the small, rectangular package and enlarged it to its actual size. The silver paper with the emerald ribbon couldn’t have been more Slytherin. His fingers shook slightly when he opened it. The first thing he saw was a silver envelope, matching the wrapping paper, and he tore it open carefully, so as not to damage whatever was in it. And then he saw it. It was a picture – and it took his breath away. It was none of that blurry crap the Prophet had – but a very sharp, coloured photograph, clearly made by Muggle technology because it wasn’t moving. But it didn’t have to in order to leave him breathless. It was of them. It was taken from a bird’s-eye perspective, as if someone – Hugo – was holding the camera from above at arm’s length, and it showed Draco sleeping peacefully as a babe on the redhead’s wide chest, frowning and smiling slightly as he apparently did in his sleep, with Hugo smiling his blissful, naughty, million-galleon smile into the camera’s lens.

Draco’s first thought was he wanted to have it enlarged and hung in his bedroom. It was impossible, of course, but, God, did he wish he could! They were _beautiful_ together. The blond himself looked… younger, strangely innocent in his sleep, and that little smile at the corner of his mouth made all the difference. And Hugo… Draco swallowed thickly. His beloved redhead was indescribably beautiful. Lying on a glossy carpet of fiery hair, with those blue eyes lit up like sapphires, and a gentle spray of those alluring freckles reaching all the way down to kissable, tempting lips, he made Draco’s heart beat madly and his fingers clench greedily around the glossy paper. Merlin, what was Hugo thinking to send him this?!

He turned it around, and it only had one sentence written on the back.

_Say yes._

_Love,_

_Hugo_

 

He put it on the table, his mind completely fried, and he could barely force himself to look away. But then he felt that there was something else in the envelope, and when he shook it, a metallic dragon of polished silver with fierce blue eyes fell onto the table and hissed angrily. Hugo had sent him a nipple ring, identical to his own, just like he promised he would. Bloody boy. The memory of times when the blond was allowed to play with the ferocious little thing who liked to bite just enough to make his toes curl, were enough to start a slow-burning fire at the pit of Draco’s balls. Merlin, how he missed those blessed, unforgettable moments… how he missed his freckled blue-eyed incubus.

Shivering  with arousal mixed with the terrible unavoidable longing that resonated in his chest, he reached for the last thing that was in the package. It was a tattered Potions book, for students of sixth and seventh year, the very one he had been using this year in his lessons. Only this one appeared to be years, if not decades older, and obviously very used. Perplexed, he opened it to browse through it quickly, but his breath stopped when he spotted the familiar writing on the first page:

_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince._

In complete disbelief, he quickly browsed through the pages, and nearly every page had notes, sketches and warnings in the very writing of Severus Snape, the ultimate Potions Master. For someone with full appreciation of the complex, bewitching art of Potions, the book was priceless.

“You like?”

His head shot up at the unexpected sound, but the sound of the familiar, sultry voice made his blood rush madly to all the wrong body parts. Merlin, he wasn’t even surprised. Just… _happy_. Insanely happy. Hugo Weasley was standing in his breakfast parlour, clearly able to walk right in past the many wards, house-elves, and complex safety measures. Sunshine pouring through the window was making his fiery hair glitter like red gold, and his smiling face was the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

He didn’t even bother answering his question. He was upon the redhead before he could change his mind, disappear, or do something that would set him out of Draco’s reach – because he desperately needed to feel, kiss, and _own_ the bloody boy who shredded apart the grey shroud of his lonesome existence and introduced him to all the colours of the world with his wild essence. Not right until the moment their lips touched and he allowed his fingers to sink into familiar silken hair, did Draco realise just how much he missed him. His desperate moan came out as nearly painful, but Hugo had the very cure for his bone-deep need. The redhead matched his urgency with his own passion, with a deep, sensual, dirty kiss that left them both breathless, and panting, laughing, and seeking more.

They finally broke apart because Draco’s knees were melting, and his vision was going blurry – and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was just for the lack of air, or he was about to die of happiness.

“Yes!” was the first thing the blond – breathless, smiling madly, and just completely overwhelmed – told the wonderful boy in his arms, and made him grin widely. Unwilling to let him go, Draco kissed the redhead once again, and only when he was absolutely certain he wasn’t just a beautiful illusion, he dared ask the question: “How?”

“Parkinson-Zabini couldn’t have children. Not for the longest time,” Hugo told him. “I found her crying in the classroom one day, and she just blurted it out. No magical means seemed to work, so I asked if she was willing to see a Muggle doctor, since she had nothing to lose. At first, she shouted at me and threw me out – at least she was smart enough not to threaten me – but in the evening, she called me back, apologised profusely, and asked if I knew someone to help her. I told her I would talk to my mum in confidence, and Mum arranged for her to see a Muggle doctor – in complete secrecy, of course – it wouldn’t do for the pure-blood to have the Muggles meddle,” Hugo said and rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, they Muggle doctor immediately determined that there was something not quite right with her, and she had to take medication for a while. And it appears to have worked, but her hormones went completely haywire, and she thought she had fallen ill, not pregnant. It wasn’t until a week ago that she finally stopped vomiting and she figured out the truth. She let Mum know immediately, frantic with the wish to protect what might be her only chance at a baby, and Mum told her that school, with its high level of stress, was no environment for a woman with high-risk pregnancy. I knew that as soon as she informed McGonagall, the Headmistress would want to talk to you. You’re practically her only option.”

Draco could barely believe his own serendipity.

“So… this was just luck?” he said dumbly, and Hugo laughed with that golden, precious laughter that made Draco want to eat it straight from his mouth.

“Nah,” the lovely redhead kissed him slowly, sensually. “I would have found us a way. I found a way into your heavily guarded house, didn’t I? It took me a while to copy Scorpius’s magical signature, but eventually I did it, and here I am.  No way I’m spending a year away from you.”

And those words sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

“So… you wish to make this… a little more permanent?” he asked with bated breath, and wished he didn’t sound so stiff and awkward.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Hugo said calmly. “I’m here, on my 17th birthday – because I want to spend it with you. I even brought the cake. Does that sound like I’m just looking for some fun?”

“No, but…”

“Oh, good,” the redheaded devil murmured sweetly, while his kiss turned deep and sensual. “Because I’m _actually_ here for one thing only, Professor… I heard that you might be coming back for another year… and about that Potions lab you have in your home, just calling for an apprentice, eager for a summer job. How about a chance at some extra credit for your best student?”

“Merlin’s balls… _What do you mean you copied my son’t magical signature?!_ Oh, you godless demon-child,” Draco, a bit shaken but stupidly happy, sighed straight into that sinful, beloved mouth. “Extra credit it is.”

 

~ The end ~

**Author's Note:**

> Please show your appreciation for the author here, or on [LIVEJOURNAL!](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/48142.html) ♥


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